May We Never Let Go
by Hearts of Eternity
Summary: Hell literally lies in wait above Earth as the Cybertronians and Earthlings coexist uneasily, rattled by every attack the Fallen and his master launch on them. With new evil rising, the powers that be on Earth and beyond are gearing up for war.
1. Prologue

_**War Eternal**_**:  
****May We Never Let Go  
Prologue**

Earth was nothing but a cesspool of filth and garbage. Its inhabitants were primitive, depraved, and rabid. Every detail of the planet was a discombobulated mass of convoluted insanity held together only by the gaseous atmosphere trapping every organic pustule to the surface. Nature was unpredictable. Tectonic plates sliding, grinding; earthquakes, volcanoes. Storm surges, tsunamis. Forest fires, sand storms, floods. One would think Earth didn't want its denizens anymore. One look at the creatures who held top rung in the evolutionary ladder, it was no mystery why. Humans were disgusting abominations of sentient organic bile. From the wars raged, to the grudges held, to the hate spread, to the lies told, to the corruption fed, to the disgusting things people did each other out of spite... Rape. Incest. Murder.

Every inch of Earth was coated, saturated, dripping, _oozing_ with **Chaos**.

Which is exactly why Psi, Guardian of Entropy, exiled member of the Original 13 Transformers, servant of Unicron, and instigator of galactic chaos, absolutely fragging _loved_ Earth.

In fact, he adored the dominant species, humans, maybe even more so than he loved his own tormented people.

With each passing day, Psi absorbed the planet's chaos and was made stronger for it. He fed like a parasite, a festering infection, a cancerous tumour, letting his own infections spread, creating his own brands of chaos with a touch, a whisper, a nudge in the right direction.

Not that he could do anything outright. He could never push the Big Red Button of Nuclear Doom in the Big Secret Room underneath a Top Secret Military Base governed by humans who thought they were the End All to Be All. As much as Psi wanted to slap them for their naïvety, he couldn't touch them. He could never possess a human as directly as he could a member of the species of his jurisdiction. It was one of the few rules in the universe Psi was forced to adhere to. Earth had its own unseen players, creatures like and unlike Psi, who frowned on the influence of invading outsiders. Having tangoed with them a time or two during his occupation of Earth's atmosphere, Psi knew the extent of their powers. And of their dislike of him. Not that disapproval ever really affected him. Never stopped him from whispering beautiful words in humans' ears, watching as events unfolded, aftermaths borne horror. No, knowing the limits only made the game more interesting.

And just because Psi couldn't do anything _directly_ didn't mean humans weren't perfectly willing to say "the devil made me do it" whenever he made a poignant... suggestion.

As if the devil was remotely interested in _making_ anyone do anything. Forcing was no fun. It had no finesse. People could come up with things far more grotesque than any scheme the devil could plot. A determined mind only needed a gentle push and the destruction that followed would be all them. The devil was no more responsible for all the evil in the world than a tiny gust of wind was for toppling the first domino.

In that respect, the devil and Psi had a lot in common: they liked to give people the rope and watch while they hung themselves.

Psi's gift, his affinity, his drug of choice, was entropy. The slow rot of internal descension as doubt seeded, distrust grew, hatred bloomed, and anarchy spread its poisonous spores on the winds. For seven deliciously torturous years, that was exactly what he did. To be perfectly honest, what else was there to do while combing the planet for the damned Allspark? Psi didn't wear boredom well. He liked to have things to do. Liked to be _entertained._

What was most entertaining? Watching his master devour planets. The event, in itself, was orgasmic... if Psi was capable of orgasms. He wasn't, but the act looked disturbingly fascinating. Like a train wreck. The devouring of Earth had to wait, of course. They couldn't risk the Allspark. They couldn't risk the energy source Earth provided on its own.

Instead, after so long of playing the sidelines, sending the likes of drones, kremzeeks, and energy leeches to do their dirty work for them, a new player was being added to the game. Someone who could play directly on the game board. No more shuffling the pawns. No more creeping on the sidelines. All the rules were going to change. Which meant the game was about to get very, _very_ interesting.

"It's about time something more interesting came along," Psi mused to himself, reclining in a throne concocted from his own innards. Black metal of the deepest obsidian, jutting from the floor like jagged shards of glass. He peered out a grand spread of windows that had appeared on a whim, given full view of the Earth below. They couldn't see him, but he could see, hear, smell, taste, and touch them. The unfairness of it tickled him inside.

Optics like flaming chunks of amber peeled away from the windows, divining the large room that seemingly appeared from nothing around him. Empty except for him and one other figure stretched motionless on an altar. Consciousness flowed through every molecule of the room; he was the room. He was the entire ship. Psi then peered down at the hand that was currently also considered his. He was the ship and he was also the frame. He was one of those lucky kinds of creatures that could be in two places at once... sort of. Flexed the fingers. Rolled the wrist. Snorted curtly. Ever since he'd lent it to Shockwave for all those centuries, subsequently having the little fragger die in it by a blaster to the faceplate courtesy of the Prime, the frame had never worn right.

Good thing wearing mortal frames had never been a fashion Psi appreciated, meaning he didn't do it often. Oh sure, he possessed other transformers and used their frames like puppets. That was fun. Wearing his own never brought the same joy. If it wasn't for the coming occasion, he wouldn't be wearing anything at all. He'd be naked, as the humans called it. It wasn't like he particularly required a physical body to contain his consciousness, anyways.

"It's been boring for far too long," the Fallen One continued to muse aloud, mostly to himself, and purely for the joy to hear himself speak. He rose from his throne and circled around, gliding like a streak of oil to the decadent black altar he'd erected for the coming occasion. Upon it laid an empty frame constructed from parts of the _Nemesis_ ship stolen years before.

Psi ran a curious fingertip down the front of the body, eliciting a shriek from the metal as it protested the sharpness of his claws. He had designed the body upon his master's request. It was, perhaps, one of the most trying things Psi had ever had to do. He was all about the destruction, after all. Creation was a little beyond him. Especially creation that required _order_. The frame was a handsome confection, most likely seen as gorgeous to a transformer. In reality, it was a shadow reflection of the Prime. Hideous to Psi himself; what did anyone see in symmetrical beauty? So _boring_. It was temptation incarnate to improve upon the frame- twist its head on backwards, switch its arms for its legs, steal vital innards- but, for the sake of his master, Psi resisted his base nature.

"Almost time," he assured the dormant frame, tapping its olfactory sensor.

A wave of frigid emptiness suddenly flooded through every fibre of Psi's demon-ship self, in turn freezing him from the inside out. He felt the frozen flames of damnation sweep him. Their icy burn scarred deeper than any wound he would ever wear. It had been too long since his fall for the flames or their cold heat to hurt. Instead, the Fallen tipped back his head and took a deep drag of air. Every sense was assaulted by a stale fragrance, hinted at with a touch of rot and emptiness. Psi sighed in contentment. There was nothing in the universe quite like that scent.

"Welcome back, my lord," greeted the Fallen, turning toward his master, foregoing any other ritual of subservient acknowledgement.

A lesser being would have mistaken the form that materialized in the thickest gathering of blackness to be that of the former High Lord Protector of Cybertron, Megatron. That lesser being would be dead wrong. Megatron had not been in full possession of that frame for a very long time. Not since the orn he had made a deal with the Unmaker- to be a host in return for power. Allowing a the Devourer of Worlds to lie dormant within him. And then came Megatron's death at the hands of a human, allowing the beast within to rise and claim the shell. To gaze upon Megatron now was to see a frame that bulged at the seams with awakened, growing power. Power enough to match the gravitas of a planet. It was a physical form dwarfed by the sheer malevolent presence radiating from it. And for the truly stupid who failed to realize exactly what they were dealing with, a glance into the optics was all that was needed to correct the mistake. One glance was all it took to know evil in its truest form. Beyond the black light of those potent optics lay the secret to the universe's undoing. Through those optics stared the Unmaker himself, Unicron.

Unicron, even in his diminutive temporary frame, was a force to be reckoned with.

Psi considered the beast for a moment, amber optics glinting as the shadows in the room deepened in the Unmaker's presence.

"You're looking unusually menacing today, my lord. How was your debacle? Enjoy yourself much?" enquired the Fallen One, whose tone was as irreverent as always.

Unicron tilted his head in acknowledgement, mouthplates curling slightly. Psi was a valuable warrior, sparkless and powerful, not to mention the boon it was to have lured one of Primus's beloved 13 away. Yet there were some orns when not even the patience of eternity was enough to deal with the Guardian of Entropy.

"I will take that as a yes, since I know you do favour your long, brooding silences rather than answer me," Psi supplied, his strange, crooked grin stretching ever wider. "You've been gone for so long... well, I was starting to think you might have forgotten about me." He raised a hand over his sparkcase, feigning hurt, though both knew there was no spark beyond the metal to injure.

Ignoring such ridiculous antics, Unicron bypassed the creature in favour of the altar beyond. A hand caressed down the cold metal, meeting each detail with a hungry touch. His approval was given with the barest of nods.

Psi's optics glittered. "I take it you like?"

"**You've done well," **Unicron announced in a voice deeper, emptier than the darkest pits of damnation.

The Fallen flounced with an exaggerated chaotic movement. "If the eons spent chaperoning that little pest Shockwave were enough to teach me anything, building a frame would be it." He circled the altar, once again inspecting the frame. "I can't guarantee it will work, though. I'm Entropy, not the Engineer; something like this is not in my nature..."

"**It will work." **The unspoken _or else _lingered palpably in the air. There would be no reward for the effort it had taken Psi to overcome his most base nature. Punishment would be plentiful if he failed.

A pause in the air followed. All around, the demon ship shifted, churning. Ancient metal groaned. Psi, in his mortal frame, desperately resisted the biting urge to say, "don't spank me if you're wrong." Somehow, he had a feeling that wouldn't go over too well with his master. Once assured that it was safe to speak again, Psi tilted his head and offered a glittering look. "May I ask what celestial body sacrificed itself for our cause?"

Unicron thought for moment, then answered, **"Pluto."**

"Oh." Psi blinked. "I liked Pluto."

"**There was hardly enough energy in it to sustain me for this... occasion." **

All evidence of missing Pluto melted from Psi's features, giving rise to the predator within. "So you truly wish to go through with this?"

"**If we are to have any chance of recovering the Allspark and gaining the planet's energy, we must be more mobile."**

"True."

"**If what you have heard of the Autobot Bumblebee's origin is correct, then a spark without the Allspark is possible." **

"True again." Psi tapped a claw to his chin, mockingly thoughtful.

Unicron raised a hand to his chassis. **"The Dark Core within this frame will serve as the Matrix of Leadership has for the Prime. A spark will be summoned." **

"You realize that you are the _Un_maker, yes? And you are trying to create. There is a certain kind of irony to the situation."

Unicron summoned an incendiary glare hot enough for the Fallen to back down.

"Of course, there is a first time for everything," Psi amended, bowing shallowly.

"**There is no time to waste." **

With an acquiescing sweep of his hand, Psi invited his master to the newest addition to the room- a new altar rising from the floor, black, jagged, and demonic. It stood parallel to the first altar, a mirror image. Unicron required no ceremony to rise to the flat surface, laying against the ice cold metal. A muted hiss resonated throughout the room. All light ceased to be as the monster's insides were exposed, sucked into the endless void contained within.

Psi looked away for a moment, despising himself for being overwhelmed. He took his place between the two altars, wishing that this were a sacrificial scene. It would have been nice to have someone living around just to rip their pulsing spark out to appease a dark god. Something like that would give a calming, familiar, soothing edge to the scene. No such luck. On one side was an empty frame with no more personality than a rock. On the other was a super nova contained in the head of pin. No matter which way one chose to look at the situation- horrifying or awe-inspiring, the fact of the matter remained in it was simply humbling to be in the presence of something so Huge. Powerful. Endless.

"Ready?" Psi quipped, steadying his voice. He received no reply, other than a low growl, and decided that was answer enough. Steeling himself, the Fallen reached for his master's open chassis. As he closed the distance, Unicron's true nature could not be denied. Before his optics, he was unmade. First the gloss of his paint disappeared, and then the paint itself. Metal armour thinned, eaten away. Wires exposed. Energon turned to dust. Psi locked himself tight, pressing onward. Failure was not an option. He wouldn't let a little thing like his body disintegrating stop him.

Shaking off the last remnants of his frame, Psi was left as pure consciousness. Being non-corporeal had its advantages, such as being unable to be unmade. Hands made of thought forced their way deeper into the dark cavity of Unicron's chest. Psi sank deeper than he should have. He should have met the resistance of the frame's other side by now. He kept sinking past his intangible elbows, up to his non-existent shoulders. Just as his head was submerged into the churning depths, the tips of his claws brushed something incalculably... hot. The shock of it nearly threw Psi away. In all his eons serving his master, nothing had ever felt so burning hot.

"**The Dark Core." **

A grunt came from Psi, not daring to nod. If he had a spark, it would be pulsing double-time by now. Perhaps triple-time. The heat that speared through him was unbearable. It latched on to his consciousness and burned deeper than any physical wound. It was an agony that wrenched beyond reality. He deafened himself with his own screams as he grasped the cursed relic. A new horror struck him when he realized he had no idea what to do with it now that he had it. Around him, he realized his larger self, the ship, was spasming. Wailing. Flames licked writhing wreaths. Ashes fell like tears.

"**Do it," **Unicron ordered.

_Do what?_ Psi wished to snarl, though found no strength to even whimper. Nevertheless, he suddenly found himself moved by a force beyond his own will. As if the Dark Core itself had awareness. A terrible sort of unlife that sank its parasitic claws into Psi's consciousness, hooked on, strung him up, and moved him like a puppet. It was not Unicron, but something else. An inanimate object subject to the evil it had absorbed over the eons. It was beyond any mortal object now. More. Aware in every wrong sense.

Inch by slow inch, Psi was backed out of Unicron's frame. Pushed out. Commanded out.

He could feel the Dark Core slipping from his fingers. Emptiness did not replace it. A wispy substance, like smoke and nightmares weaved into one remained latched to his claws. As he moved back, the material tore. The noise it rendered was more felt than heard. A startling, disturbing feeling that tore through Psi more profoundly than any felt before. It rocked him to his core. More disturbing than the moment of his creation when Primus had condensed reality itself and borne him.

Another tug, another tear, and Psi realized with a thrill of agonized terror that reality itself was being torn. The fabric that held this universe together and kept the other universes apart was ripping. Beyond it came a stench that overpowered even the stale rot of Unicron. Rank, like old, dead things best left unseen and forgotten for the rest of eternity. Empty spaces opening up. Dark places where the Old Ones slumbered eternally. Forbidden places where only the damned, damned even beyond Psi's standards, stewed in their perpetual hells.

Unicron growled a primal noise, something that shook everything down to the tearing fabric of realities. Deep words came from him. Old, guttural sounds. Rough. Ancient. Powerful.

Quivers raced through Psi's consciousness. He felt himself winking in and out of existence, and the trill of terror that accompanied the realization. Unlike mortal souls, once he was gone, he was gone. If he disappeared, he would cease to be forever. He doubled his efforts to draw away, self-preservation out-weighing his loyalty to his lord. With a final torturous pull, Psi tore away from his master, taking with him something he didn't quite get a look at before it flung from his fingers and into the open chest of the dormant frame. Psi was struck with the vague impression of something black and oozing.

Energy sapped, unfamiliar tremors of horror still fresh and ripe, Psi allowed his consciousness to sink back into the safety of his demon ship self. He locked himself in dormancy. Damn whatever Unicron wanted.

As for the Unmaker himself, his chassis hissed closed and he sat up. Innards no longer exposed, the stars came out of hiding. Light returned. Unfathomable optics watched as the dormant frame across from him showed signs of life. The chassis snapped shut. Chest expanded as vents cycled, taking their first drag of air. Darkened optics took light, smoldering deep, deep red.

A flood of satisfaction washed through the Unmaker. He rose to his feet, crossing to his creation. Staring optics met his, blinked, widened.

"**Do you know who I am?" **

"Master," croaked the newly born monster.

Unicron smiled, stepping back. **"Do you know who you are?" **

The bot shook its head, waiting to be informed.

"**You are my newest herald. The first to be created from nothing. You will serve me in my campaign: I have not the proper body yet to devour the Earth whole on my own, so I desire for every drop of energy to be drained from the planet so I may devour it that way. You will find and collect the Allspark from the Cybertronians on the planet. I do not care how many lives you must take. Raze the entire planet, if you must." **

Fires lit the dark caverns of the bot's optics. His expression came alive with hunger. "And whose name shall I give so they know who is coming for them?"

"**If you are to be the antithesis of all that Optimus Prime is, you shall have a name that reflects your purpose." **Unicron outstretched a hand to his creation.** "Rise, Nemesis Prime, Spawn of Unicron." **


	2. To Begin a Story

BAM! You can't keep a [good] writer down, now can you? This story is just _begging_ to be told! Sorry for the radio silence regarding Author's Notes in the Prologue. I wanted to smack you all in the face with the newest instalment of the WE series. No watering it down with long, sappy tirades about how much I adore you all and am humbled and grateful for all your support and interest in this story. That's what the rest of the story is for! 8D

It might take a few chapters for the story to get established, but I hope you're all with me! You know how it is- seven years is a long time, so we all need to know what ground we stand on. I'm so sorry that I can't shower you all independently with heaps of sparkling love for all your amazing reviews- and believe me, I want to gush about them for hours!- but if you'll bear with me, individual loving will come soon. In the mean time, group love is okay, yes? Everyone likes [review] orgies! ...or so I hear. =P

My greatest and most sincere thanks to the most amazing people in the world: **DragonFlyDevi, Afrolady114, renegadewriter8, Bluebird Soaring, KuuybiSango, Litahatchee, Juzu, Ladyleyn, lady tecuma, BluePaintedFreak, Balrog Rioke, Chloo, The King of Pain, Indigo Feral**, and **cynthia**. You have all been my inspirations, my muses, my reasons for continuing this story~ Cosmic love and stars to you all. ^_^

To **FunkyFish1991**, the dearest other half to my twisted black soul: thank you for existing. *hugs*

Now, no more delaying your gratification, readers! Onward! Read, review, & enjoy! ^_^

_**War Eternal**_**:****  
May We Never Let Go  
To Begin a Story**

Sam found himself standing in the middle of a battlefield.

At his feet, the ground was soaked with blood and energon. So thick was the gore-soaked earth, his feet became mired in it. The air was as hot as the deepest depth of hell. Each breath in seared his nose, throat, and lungs like a dry acid. The acrid scent of burning metal and charred flesh hung omnipresent. Broken corpses lay scattered around him, hacked to pieces. Those empty optics were turned upwards, watching him.

Standing with the dead were the living. Autobot and human alike. They were grime-covered, sagging with exhaustion. The demons of war still lingered in their staring gazes. Expressions all haunted. None moved. No eye nor optic blinked. All living figures stood frozen.

Among the living and the dead stood the things in between. Creatures that Sam didn't dare turn around to acknowledge. He could feel as their gazes bore into him; some hot, some cold, some soft like satin, some slimy like dead things dragged up from the abyss. The intensity of their gazes made his skin prickle. In some deep part of his twisted psyche, he knew they were the representatives of Earth, from the cat-headed woman to the white-winged man. All staring. _Waiting_.

Sam tensed, trying to not let the dream get to him. Too many dreams like this got to him, disturbing his waking hours, making him wary of falling asleep again. He _knew_ it was a dream, knew everything here was a product of his disturbed mind, and he was slave to it until it was over.

The air stirred to his right. A gentle scent lit the air, sweet without any distinct flavour, cutting through the acidic smells of death. _They_ had arrived. The ones not of Earth. Wraith-like, formed of faint outlines defined only when the wind blew against them. Never quite _real_. Never solid. Never belonging in the dreamscape, or entirely welcome there either. Their amber stares were ancient, unwavering.

As if in a spotlight, Sam was the focus of everyone's attention.

"_Sam."_ A whisper on the hot winds. The sound curled around his ears, beseeching him to listen.

Above him, a portal of blackness appeared. A blotch of oil in the pool of blue. Attention turned to the sky. All eyes and optics lifted as one. Sam, drawn by a will greater than his own, tilted his head back to watch. Silence reigned. Absolute and unwavering. The taint of black spread steadily, swallowing the sky. Darkness eclipsed the light.

"Unicron," Sam breathed, his voice turned ragged.

Two spots of light appeared amidst the darkness. Optics. Red optics. A body forming from the darkness, taking shape. Limbs oozing from the solid shadow. Tar dripping from between each slate of metal. The embodiment of a monster.

Sam stared until his eyes burned, transfixed, Hypnotized. Around him, the air crackled with a mind of its own. Thin whips of blue lightning snapped. Energy laced between his fingers. Skin tingling, charged.

"_Sam," _called the unEarthly ones. An invisible hand gripped his, ice cold, desperate. _"Be prepared. He's coming." _

With their warning delivered, the dreamscape crumbled.

With a wild gasp, Sam shot up in his seat. Too fast. Too sudden. He felt the burn of his seatbelt vividly as it dug into his neck. Pain bloomed in his chest as the steering wheel rammed into his sternum, between his ribs. Adrenaline shot through him. A minor flash of blue erupted before his eyes, sparking like static electricity in the air.

"Oh shit, oh shit," he panted raggedly, disorientated. He slammed his back into the leather seat, sinking into the hot embrace. The solidness surrounding him helped to ground him in reality. Helped to remind him that he was not trapped in his head anymore.

Coming down from one of _those_ dreams was like coming down from a bad drug high; you crashed hard, the aftermath leaving you drained and sick inside. Like the worst addict, he was powerless to stop the dreams from happening.

Sam dragged a shaking hand down his sweat-slicked face. His eyes burned from a volatile combination of heat and sweat running into them. His mouth felt dry and stale, his breath rancid as he panted. He slid his hand down, rubbing at his throat where his seatbelt had bit into him. The skin was raw. As he drew away his hand, almost invisible cobwebs of light stretched the distance. He felt the tingle of the energy dancing in every cell of his hand. They blew away almost as quickly as they appeared.

_Damn_.

It had been a while since a dream had spooked him badly enough to... _react_ to it so strongly.

"...Sam?"

The sound of his name being called reminded Sam that he was not alone. He was surrounded by someone, sitting within them. His alien guardian of eight years; his best friend. Bumblebee's voice, his presence, further soothed Sam's shattered nerves. Not completely at ease, but soothed away from the edge of madness.

"Yeah, Bee?" he croaked, then cleared his throat. Too dry. His canteen sat abandoned on the seat next to him, quickly snatched up and drained. The water was hot, a little stale, but a blessing nonetheless.

"Another dream?" wondered the scout, his voice drifting from the speakers within the cab of the car. He spoke in a low tone, cautious. Not wary of Sam himself, but of the answer to his question. He knew well that Sam despised his dreams.

"Yeah, another dream," Sam confirmed, disgusted with himself. "And before you ask- no, I don't want to talk about it." He _never_ wanted to talk about it. There were very few times in the last seven- eight years he'd started having the dreams that he ever wanted to acknowledge them. Didn't want to admit to them. He was enough things in life without being labelled crazy, too.

"Suit yourself," Bumblebee sighed.

That was exactly what Sam planned on doing. He took a couple deep breaths, still working the adrenaline from his body. He half expected the air to taste as it did in his dream. It did not. It carried the smells of another foreign land- Egypt or Sudan. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep, or if they had crossed the border between the countries yet. Beyond the windows of Bumblebee's alt mode, the desert sands stretched out in all directions. Welcoming and foreboding at the same time, untamed and untouched. A falcon soared high on the thermal up-drafts in the distance, hunting under the blaze of the sun.

A falcon- like the ancient Egyptian god Horus. God of the sky, protection. And _War_. Sam hoped the bird was not an omen.

On the road before him was the impressive sight of a golden Lamborghini streaking along at breakneck speeds, while behind him was a solid presence of a forest-green Jeep Gladiator, and bringing up the rear was a bright red mirror to the golden Lambo. Sam didn't need to let his eyes drop to the Autobot insignias emblazoned on their grills and license plates to know who they were, _what_ they were. Eight years among the aliens had gifted him with a sixth sense of knowing what was an inanimate object and what was _alive_.

Finally feeling grounded, Sam pulled himself together and decided to get down to business. "How long was I out?" he enquired, pulling out a paper-thin PDA from his pocket. Noting that his hands still shook a little, he opted for handless-handling. Pulling out a long, thin cord from the side of the PDA, he drew the needle-tipped end to the back of his neck where he inserted it into a small interfacial port hidden back there. In a matter of seconds, he was synced with the device.

"You've only been sleeping a few hours," Bumblebee replied. "We crossed the border not long after you fell asleep. There was very little trouble getting across into Sudan."

"No one thought it odd that the guy supposed to be driving you was out cold in the driver's seat?" Sam wondered dryly, checking through several messages. He needed only to think of what operation he wanted to perform on the PDA and it would respond appropriately.

"They knew who we were," replied the scout.

"Of course they did." Sam smirked wryly. Everyone always knew. There probably wasn't a human on the planet who didn't know what Autobot insignia meant. At least they hadn't faced as much adversity getting into Sudan as they did in other places. Some humans didn't take too kindly to the Cybertronian refugees- or the war they brought with them. "You could have woke me up for company, you know?"

"Since you haven't been sleeping a lot lately, I figured it was kindest to let you get what little rest you could," replied the Camaro. After all these years, the scout still insisted on his original alt mode. It had sentimental value. "We've made good time crossing the desert." Meaning the Autobots had hit speeds no normal vehicle on Earth could maintain without exploding under the heat of the Sahara sun. "We're almost to the Merowe Dam."

"Good. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go home," Sam sighed. A month was too long to be away from home, especially while on radio silence. A pang of longing tightened his chest. He wondered what Mikaela was doing at the moment.

"_Home_. Primus, I'm looking forward to a good, long recharge in a proper berth," Bumblebee said, sounding eager. Sam heard the exhaustion in the undercurrent of his friend's voice. Guilt twinged at him, knowing the Autobots has scarcely had time to properly recharge during their assignment. A few joors every night while he himself slept was hardly enough for them.

"If you want, I could give you a boost to hold you over," Sam offered, already rubbing his palms together. His skin tingled, blue sparks appearing. He tried not to use his 'gifts' frivolously too often, but one could hardly call helping a friend in need frivolous.

"Don't waste your energy, Sam. If something comes up, you need to be at the top of your game," Bumblebee said. "I'll have plenty of time to rest when we return."

"Alright, if you're sure," Sam sighed, shaking out his hands to dissipate the energy.

From behind them, the red Lambo darted up and came along side them. There was no driver. Sideswipe gave Bumblebee a friendly nudge, having sensed the brief rise in energy the same way a human felt when a storm was coming. "I wouldn't mind a pick-me-up," he said, his voice transmitted through Bumblebee's speakers. "How about sharing the love, Sparky?"

_Sparky_. Sam's pet name among the Autobots and very few humans, underscoring the fact that he was not everything he appeared to be. He was _more_.

"Get back in position, Sideswipe," Bumblebee intoned, though sounding amused. "Sam's not sharing anything at the moment."

"Too bad," sighed the red warrior, pulling back to take up the rear once more.

"We should be to Merowe within the hour," Sunstreaker announced from ahead of them, his tone a little tight. Everyone present knew how currently irritated he was, covered in dust and constantly having his gloss eroded by the scrape of sand. If it wasn't for the fact that he and his brother were necessary for this assignment, he would not have come at all.

"Will we be able ta stop in town so Ah can pick up a couple more souvenirs?" Hound asked lightly.

Sam's lips curved. "Yeah, sure, we should probably have time later." Hound's love of human paraphernalia had not diminished in his years being on Earth. However, he now tended to hide it behind a smokescreen of buying the Banes women gifts from all the places he was sent scouting. Knowing Mikaela enjoyed the gifts Hound brought her, Sam was definitely in favour of allowing for a brief diversion.

"You know, I'm kind of hoping something does happen while we're there," Sideswipe suddenly intoned. "We've been going back and forth between the Aswan High and Low Dams for the last month and nothing happened. I was kind of looking forward to a bit of action, you know? Things have been way too quiet lately."

"You probably just jinxed us, Sides. Now nothing is going to happen," Bumblebee teased.

"Ya better hope that nothing continues ta happen," Hound insisted. "Nothin' happening is a good thing."

"It's boring," Sideswipe countered.

Sunstreaker growled lightly. "Elita One had a feeling something was going to happen. Something will happen."

Elita One's "feelings" were hardly ever wrong. Ever since her rescue from the combined torture Shockwave and the Fallen, the femme had been different. Not just in personality, but in other, less understandable, ways as well. Every once in a while, she would have a particular feeling about a place, and it usually turned out to be the next target for the energy leeches and kremzeeks who continued to plague the planet looking for energy. They had long since learnt to trust in Elita's feelings.

Sam's lips thinned. "Sunstreaker's right- if Elita had a feeling about this place, you know something's up. We should stay on guard; anything could happen at any time." Expect the unexpected was the creed they lived by nowadays. One never knew what would come from day to day. When their enemies were the likes of a planet devouring monster with an untold amount of power and a flaming demon-ship with a penchant for chaos, there was very little anyone could do other than expect the worst. "And, for God's sake, try to keep a low profile. We don't want to stir any more ire than..."

"We usually do?" Bumblebee offered with a sigh.

"Yeah, no more than we usually do," Sam agreed tiredly.

Sometimes all it took was one wrong look, a misplaced swerve on the road. Hell, they could park in the wrong parking spot, and humans would start getting antsy.

Worse yet, it had recently come to their attention that the dwarf planet Pluto was now missing from the skies. With Unicron lurking out there, it was no mystery where it went. The news was slowly coming to the attention of the public. When human opinion of the Cybertronians was always wavering, constantly up for debate, it was incidences like these that threatened hardcore eviction. The rabid media craze that would soon ensue would be merciless. Sam only prayed he and his team would be safely home by the time the inevitable storm broke.

"...so," Hound intoned, cutting through the brief pall that had fallen over them. He was looking for a distraction, kind enough to attempt to raise everyone else's spirits. "So, what do ya think Ah should buy for Chase and Mickey this time? I already have pashminas, jewellery, and figurines..."

"A camel," Sideswipe announced at random.

Sam crossed his eyes. Hound had too much of a soft spot for animals, it was best not to tempt him. "Please, not a camel." Now done with his PDA, he drew the cable from his neck and stashed the device away. He tried not to shudder at the unusual feeling of sliding the needle-like connector from the port embedded in his flesh; there were some sensations that were impossible to get used to.

The Jeep wiggled on his axles, an equivalent to shaking his head. "No... Ah thought about it, but no. Chase didn't appreciate the llama last time." The llama Hound had brought back from the Andean mountains a few years back had caused a fair amount of roaring from his human friend. Apparently waking up to a llama in the living room had not been at the top of her priorities list.

"I think she was spitting more than the animal did," Bumblebee recalled, laughing.

"She wasn't pleased with it, and Ah don't want ta have it out with her again," Hound insisted. "Ah have plenty of things from Egypt, but Ah'd also like ta get them something from Sudan. Ah just don't know what."

"Mikaela likes anything you bring home. She keeps it all in her room," Sam assured. Every prized souvenir, every lovely photograph; Mikaela cared for them all, treasuring them. "If you want to get Chase something special, though..." He paused for thought. What to get a bawdy, tyrannical bi- _witch_ who wanted nothing? "Get her a bottle of absinthe."

"Or a muzzle," Sideswipe merrily suggested, prompting Hound to slam on his brakes. Only the warrior's quick reflexes saved him from slamming into the larger mech's aft. "Joking! I was joking!"

"Ya better have been," Hound warned.

With a dry smirk, Sam simply let the conversation wash over him. Time passed easily as the four Autobots and one human continued to discuss light topics, obstinately avoiding heavier subjects. Sam was very much at home among the aliens, sometimes feeling more so at ease with them than with his own species. He didn't always know if his affinity for them was because of the years spent with them, honing himself into a figure that could be of use to them in their war and in their bid to find a home on Earth, or if he was drawn to them because he wasn't quite... as _human_ as he looked.

A quick adjustment to Bumblebee's rear view mirror gave him the chance to give his appearance a once over. A man of twenty-five stared back, blue eyes too bright to be natural. They hadn't always been blue- he had been born with brown eyes. His hair was short, the dark waves cropped close to his scalp. The beginnings of a shadow was growing across his hardened jaw. His body had filled out with age and hard work, no longer lanky or awkward. He looked human. Actually, he tended to appear a little more human than the average person, able to blend in almost anywhere with remarkable ease. It was as if his physical appearance were trying to make up for his unusual abilities. Whatever the reason, he appreciated it. The fact that he looked like an average human was powerful camouflage when he knew he was a hunted man- or, rather, the power inside him was hunted.

"Merowe up ahead," Sunstreaker announced, startling Sam from his thoughts.

Still hazy in the distance, distorted by heat waves, the small town of Merowe was a glistening white-beige line on the horizon. Greenery was starting to appear, mixed in amongst the sand. Green life made possible in this barren land by the Nile River, its water acting as the essence of life in the dessert. Further in the distance, unseen by Sam but undoubtedly observed by his alien companions, was the huge expanse of the Merowe Dam, stretching its monumental girth across the river, creating a massive reservoir in its wake.

The hydro-electricity supplied by the dam was precious to the people of Merowe and beyond, but that supplied energy also made it a target. The whole purpose of their assignment was to inspect the structure, suggest ways to increase security and give the humans anti-leech and anti-kremzeek methods of protecting themselves. If need be, if an attack came while they were there, they would fight.

"Everyone knows to keep alert?" Sam asked rhetorically. The Autobots had been at war far longer than he'd been alive.

"You do your job pandering to the humans and we'll do our job," Sunstreaker snorted.

They passed through the town quickly enough, dodging wildly around rowdy drivers, donkey- and camel-pulled carts, and swerving around humans. They made it to the dam without great incident, all grateful for satellite tracking to give them the shortest possible route to their destination. Their arrival had been expected, a group of men approaching with expressions ranging from welcome to wariness.

Sam swiftly exited Bumblebee, straightening his uniform. He wore two crests; the Autobot decal above his heart, mirroring the tattoo he bore on his skin, unabashedly claiming his loyalty to the aliens, while the second badge sewn to his uniform was a picture of the Earth eclipsed by a shield, the letters EDC inlaid over top. It was the decal worn by human agents of the Earth Defence Command, an organization built from the ashes of Sector Seven, although heeding to a far more public approach to alien handling and trafficking so as to seemingly put the public at ease. For the most part, Sam cared little that they signed his paychecks; he preferred to take his orders from Optimus Prime.

Near him, four holograms materialized. Each bore a uniform similar to Sam's, though they pointedly lacked any visible connections to the EDC. They were Autobots, without question.

Bumblebee was at his elbow. His hologram was normally an androgynous blond, though for today he adjusted the holo-matrix to appear more masculine to cut down on any confusion. His blond hair and blue eyes made him a little too obvious among the darker colourations of the people in this corner of the world, and although it was in his nature to blend in as much as possible, he had refused to change his settings too drastically. He was as sentimentally attached to the holo as he was to his Camaro alt mode.

Hound's hologram gave a comfortable stretch, making some very convincing popping noises as if bones were cracking into place. At 6-foot-7, he towered over everyone present. Physically intimidating. He wandered around until he could stand by Sam and Bumblebee, his hologram's expression calm and curious. His copper skin and raven-black hair, inspired by the human he had modelled himself after, allowed him to blend in with greater ease. It was only his height and strong build that made him stick out, though like Bumblebee, he was not inclined to change.

The twins were the most obvious of the quartet of holograms, standing apart from the group in both looks and physical distance. They were near mirror-images of each other, near but not complete. Sunstreaker maintained a perfect visage. _Perfect_. Beyond humanly so, which caused many humans an instinctual discomfort that was hard to explain. Sam suffered the same disturbance whenever an Autobot didn't put enough thought into their hologram and materialized "too perfect". Sideswipe appeared the more human of the two, his face a devilish mask with shadowed jaw, smirking lips, and mischievous eyes. Their hair reflected their paint, one impossibly golden-blond, the other an unnatural shade of wicked red. Strangest yet, they were male versions of the one and only Mikaela Banes, since Sunstreaker had determined her the most beautiful and had chosen to emulate her.

Sam cast his eyes to the sky, hoping some divine force would allow the twins' eccentric appearances to go unnoticed. They had to be among the very few Cybertronians who had an _aversion_ to blending in. Unfortunately, Sam couldn't tell them to stay away. They were necessary. While Bumblebee and Hound could see when normal trouble was coming from miles away, the twins had the unique ability to see when trouble was coming when no one else could.

Soon the Sudanese representatives of the Merowe Dam were upon them, introductions quickly exchanged. Bumblebee acted as translator. Sam quickly found himself relieved that the men he was meeting with were not adverse to the Cybertronians being present. In fact, the earlier wariness he had seen on some of their faces had been not for the aliens, but for the possible threat looming over their dam. It had taken nearly a decade to construct Merowe Dam and no one was willing to see it go. They were welcome to any protection the Autobots and the EDC could suggest or provide.

"A tour of your facilities would be helpful to the process," Sam suggested, translated by Bumblebee.

As quickly as they had arrived, they were off again, now travelling into the depths of the massive dam. Sam and Bumblebee remained at the head of the pack with the main overseer of the dam's operations, a one such Samir Amal. He was a knowledgeable man, devoted to work, intensely serious about the protection of the dam. The rest fell behind with Hound, who was making friends left and right- as was his natural talent. The twins took up the rear, staying at least twenty feet behind. They were silent and vigilant, on the look out for any kind of threat.

The tour took quite a while, over two hours at the very least. Their overseer-guide turned out to have a vested interest in the Autobots. He had a cousin who was a very wealthy investor and his dealings often brought him in contact with the robotic aliens, and by no means had the contact left him poorer. Usually, it left him delectably richer. For such generosity to a family member, their guide was willing to show them all there was to see.

Sam once more brought out his PDA, at first opting to use the stylus so as not to make their company uncomfortable. Sometimes it was like walking on eggshells around humans. You never knew what would set them off. Once, four years ago, shortly after Sam had had the interfacial ports implanted, a senator had seen him insert the cable to his iPod into the back of his neck. The senator then promptly vomited on his wife's shoes. Sufficed to say, Sam had been more careful after that.

Samir would hear nothing of it, expressly wishing to see Sam connect with the PDA. Only approved EDC agents and a few special civilians were implanted with interfacial ports, equalling less than one hundred in the world. Samir found it _fascinating_.

By the time they made it topside again, now on the other side of the dam, the sun was setting. The sky turned the colour of blood as the sun bled out, dying beneath the horizon. The air cooled substantially, bringing with it a breeze that carried off the reservoir water. It was refreshing. While the scenery was far from quiet- water rushing to churn turbines, kinetic energy being converted into electricity, cars revving and honking in the distance- everything seemed tranquil. The only thing strange was that the night seemed to set in quicker than it should have, bringing with it a darkness too deep.

"How odd," Samir commented, regarding the sky he had grown up under. "The stars are dim tonight."

Bumblebee conveyed the man's sentiments. A cold feeling slithered down Sam's spine.

Suddenly, a rustling came to Sam's attention. A hand settled on his shoulder. He turned his head to regard the hologram now standing there, a halo of golden hair surrounding a hard face. Ice coloured eyes literally glowed in the night. Sunstreaker dipped his head gracefully, bringing his cold lips flush to Sam's ear.

"No One's here," he whispered.

Sam gave a curt nod. _No One's here_. That was code for "the Fallen's spectre is lurking around" although, it also served as code for "shit is about to hit the fan."

"Mr Amal, perhaps you and your associates should make your way back inside," Sam suggested gravely, and then waiting for Bumblebee to get the meaning across. Samir appeared startled by the request, but quickly picked up on the new tension Sam and the holograms radiated. He murmured for them to be well in whatever was to come, and then quickly ushered his colleagues into the safety of the dam.

"Where is he?" Sam asked warily, casting an eye around as if he had a hope of spotting the demon.

"We caught a glimpse of him just as we were coming out into the open," Sideswipe informed tightly. His glowing gaze swept the open area. "He's hiding now. He probably knows we spotted him."

"Is he anywhere near your alt modes?" Sam enquired.

"No," came Sideswipe's immediate reply.

That was a small consolation. Had the Fallen made it anywhere near the Autobot's frames, he could take possession of one of them... Nothing good would come of it.

"If he's here, the others won't be far," Hound growled. _The others_- he meant the energy leeches. The kremzeeks.

"Don't divide yourselves anymore. Get back to your bodies before something happens. I'll be fine crossing the dam on my own." Sam gave them a sharp gesture, urging their holograms to disperse. Faces hard in the too-dark night, holo-matter pixelated, and then shattered. Almost instantly after, the haunting melody of Cybertronian transformation carried on the breeze. Four huge forms stood up on the other side of the dam.

With a tired sigh, Sam decided the falcon he'd seen earlier had been an omen. A bad one.

Halfway across the dam's top, taking it at a fast sprint, Sam chanced a spare glance over the edge. The dark river flowed into the dam from far below, like a black snake writhing. Sam stumbled to a halt, doing a double take. He could have sworn he'd seen...

Yes, a flash of neon-purple lightning.

"Dammit!" Sam roared, swerving away from the railing. "They're coming in from the water!" He kicked into a headlong run, long legs eating up the distance between him from his team mates. By the time he reached them, they were already in battle mode. Battle-masks down. Weapons charged. Blades at the ready. They stared intently down into the ravine, watching as dark shapes emerged from the Nile.

No wonder the night was darker than usual. Energy leeches could suck light right out of the air. They looked like the walking dead, all shades of dead grey and black. Living black holes, sucking everything in. Able to drain a Cybertronian dry of every drop of energy. A single touch could render a human necrotic. Their moans became a haunting cacophony, growing louder as more leeches emerged.

With them came their erratic partners, the kremzeeks. Where the leeches were dark, the kremzeeks were light. Pure energy. All colours of the electric rainbow, as deadly as a bolt of lightning. Their screeching was like all manner of wild, horrid things- screaming cats, nails down a chalkboard, feedback loops on speakers.

"There's so many of them," Bumblebee pointed out uneasily. Usually, no more than a dozen leeches would attack any one facility. Tonight, there were dozens. Perhaps over fifty. They kept coming from the Nile like an edless nightmare.

"So? Kill a few and there won't be as many," Sideswipe replied, slicing a sharpened dagger through the night in challenge to the coming fiends.

"I'm with Sideswipe. We have to take them all down," Sam intoned stonily, hand up in demand for his own weapon. Bumblebee supplied it from subspace. Cool metal that transformed with a single touch. A hollow space appeared, Sam's arm sliding in. He felt the cool, familiar, disturbing touch of needle-like connectors sinking into the hidden ports in his wrist and elbow. The gun came to life with a hungry growl. Sam was quick to slip the eye piece into place, hooking it over one ear, slipping the cable into his neck, adjusting the transparent screen that now glowed before his right eye. He now had a perfect view of the night, targeting included.

"But _why_ are there so many tonight?" Bumblebee insisted. The leeches were now trying to crowd into the tunnels to get to the turbines. They were starved for energy. The kremzeeks egged them on with their cries. None made a move for the Autobots, blind to them for the time being.

"There must be a reason," Hound agreed warily, tracing the blade that protruded from his forearm.

A sudden, violent reaction erupted from the twins. They spun, slashing at thin air. Their snarls were feral, optics turning a little wild. Obviously the Fallen had taken to tormenting them.

"Who's coming?" Sunstreaker demanded of the spectre. Forced to suffer through every moment of the demon's taunting, there was no reprieve for them. The Fallen knew it. Loved to goad them. Sunstreaker could only be pushed so far before... The berserker's optics flashed red.

Sam felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. _Who's coming?_ Sunstreaker had asked. Coldness spread. Dread settled deep in his bones. In his dream, they had said to be prepared-

"Who's coming, you fragging freak? !" Sideswipe spat, his optics tracking something none other could see.

"_He's coming," _they'd said in the dream.

"He's coming," Sam murmured through numb lips. Nausea gripped him. Bile rose. He didn't understand who... what was coming, but he didn't like it.

Bumblebee's gaze shot down, locking on Sam. "Who?"

Sam stared back helplessly. "I don't know."

A greater darkness fell upon them. Not the entire land, but their general vicinity. Darkness that concentrated into a single area, congealing into a mass of churning black ooze. Sam suddenly found himself on his knees as all ambient oxygen disappeared. From the portal came a creature whose shape formed from shadow. Tar poured from between metal slates. The optics that fell upon them were that of a monster's, as red as jewels of blood.

"I come," announced the mech, "but not in peace."

There was a split second of disorientation as the bot stepped away from the portal. For the briefest moments, the Autobots were given the impression of an evil mirror-verse version of their Optimus Prime. A mimic of the frame design, but the colours were wrong. The aura was wrong. That split second of staring disappeared when the mech's gaze landed on Bumblebee. Tension coiled.

"_You."_

As a blur, the newcomer launched himself at Bumblebee, hands coming around his neck. The force of the attack flung them both over the side into the ravine hundreds of meters below.


	3. To Fight for Their Lives

Lords, Ladies, and everything in between, I give you the next chapter of this story! *yayyyyyy* 8D It was an odd mix of inspiration, trepidation, eagerness, and utter madness trying to write this puppy. XD There's a lot of love out there for Nemesis Prime, that crazy ol' nutbag of evil fun, and hopefully WE's version of him is up to snuff.

Looking forward to your thoughts! ^_^

My deepest and most sincere love, gratitude, and thanks to my dearest friends and reviewers: **Flameshield, Dazja, Ladyleyn, Bluebird Soaring, KyuubiSango, renegadewriter8, ThatBluePaintedWeirdo, Juzu, Sebastian Nyte, Cynthia, Dramastar-Mel, 1bloodtempst**, and **FunkyFish1991!** You are all what keep this story alive, even in its fledgling stage. Your enthusiasm becomes my inspiration. =P

Special thanks to **FunkyFish1991** for doing her usual thing- living, breathing, editing for me, posting mega-hot human!Twin pics to DeviantART, and submitting reviews longer than she is tall. XD I adore you more than words can say, my dear. You are my esteemed editor, my beloved illustrator, and you're probably half the reason the sun rises in the morning. I'd surely be lost without you! *hugs*

Read, Review, & Enjoy~

**May We Never Let Go  
To Fight for Their Lives**

"Bumblebee!" Sam roared as he ran for the railing, the cold metal bar gouging between his ribs as he watched his best friend disappear into the leech-enhanced gloom. With no time to spare, Sam whipped around to his remaining team mates. Like him, they had no time to bow to fear. They had to act. Now.

"Hold on!" Hound commanded, stealing Sam from the ground to throw the human to his shoulder. With barely enough time to dig his hands beneath green armour, Sam felt the world rush out from beneath him as Hound took a running leap at the ravine. Sand-dusted wind blasted up at them. Hound twisted in midair, ramming his forearm blade into the cement wall of the dam to stabilize his descent. Metal screamed against concrete, a banshee cry shrill enough to freeze blood. Angry red sparks set the night on fire.

Not far to the left, a second storm of sparks lit the night as Sunstreaker made his way down the dam with his adamantium claws screaming through the concrete. He was as graceful as a snake, fangs poised to strike.

"WA-HOOOO!" From above came an invigorated war cry as Sideswipe leaped into a free fall. He passed Hound and Sunstreaker in a flash of wicked red armour and a devil-may-care smirk, hitting the water with a deafening splash. Surprise was evident for a number of leeches as he came back up, liberally coated in thick black silt, his honed blades sinking in and parting heads from their bodies. Several kremzeeks screamed in horror, fading away as their counterparts died. Sideswipe was nothing if not deadly accurate with his kills.

"Bottoms up," Hound shouted over the roar of their descent. Sam braced himself for impact, hanging on for dear life. The Autobot's weight hit like an explosion, three tons of metal colliding full-force with the thin boardwalk worth of concrete lining the ravine. The shockwave passed through impact-resistant metal and straight into the much more vulnerable organic body along for the ride. Sam gave an involuntary cry of pain. Bones ground together, organs twisting. He gasped for breath as every drop of oxygen was knocked from his lungs; for a few too long moments, he suffered temporary blindness.

"Cover your ears, Sam," Hound ordered as the whine of his shoulder mount split the air. Sam rushed to comply as best he could, curling into himself and mashing his palms to his ears. Knowing what was to come could very well burn his eyeballs out of his skull, Sam wisely clenched his eyes shut. Moments later, his vision burned red through his eyelids as several photon bursts were released. Their whistling shrieks deafened even the collective screams of the kremzeeks. When Sam pulled his hands away, he was disconcerted to see blood spattered across his palms. When they returned home, someone would have to fix his eardrums.

Hound's warning shots did their trick, though. The few stray leeches too near them found themselves minus a few body parts, now occupied with the task of finding new ones. Unfortunately, the light of the photon bursts did very little to lighten the unnatural darkness; every drop was quickly absorbed, leaving the ravine darker than before. The stars were nothing but a distant memory.

"Sideswipe!" Sunstreaker called, searching blindly. Someone sloshed toward them, nothing but an inky outline in the intense gloom. Sunstreaker identified the approaching figure in unequivocal terms. "Ratchet's gonna kill you if you get your filters clogged with that slag," warned the golden warrior, eyeing the thick coating of river ooze his brother now sported.

Sideswipe shook his head vigorously, dislodging globs of black silt from his faceplate. "You're just jealous I got to the bottom first." He held his hand out with the expectation of being helped out of the water. His brother only stared at his muck-covered hand. "Seriously, bro? A little love here."

With a roll of his optics, Sunstreaker fished his brother out.

Sideswipe cast his gaze to Sam, noting how the human was still recovering from impact. "Look sharp, Sparky- this is no time to be going all human on us."

"I'm fine," Sam grunted, barely able to hear his own words. Everything sounded muffled. Damn, hearing loss sucked shit.

"His eardrums burst," Hound warned. "Ah had ta fire with him in close range."

"I can still fight," Sam countered, able to read Hound's mouthplates. "Bumblebee needs us."

"I'll go after him," Sunstreaker volunteered stonily.

"No, we need you and Sideswipe here to deal with the leeches. There's a lot of them and we need them dead. Hound, you stay here as well. They could use the backup. _I'll_ go after Bumblebee," Sam ordered, and then hefted his own weapon to fire several times over Sideswipe's shoulder at the encroaching leeches. It seemed their energy-sucking enemies had finally taken an interest in them.

Once the first wave of their threat was down, a few mouthplates opened in protest among the three Autobots. Sam cut them off before they could begin.

"There's no time to argue," he insisted. "I can take care of myself, and I've got my own backup if I need it. Kill the leeches and I'll get Bee."

Hound reluctantly plucked the human from his shoulder, pinning him with a firm stare. "Be careful, Sam. Whatever that thing was that attacked Bumblebee... it looked dangerous."

"So am I when I want to be," Sam countered, blue lightning igniting his irises.

"You're still only human," warned the scout, though he could spare no more time on warning the human. A kremzeek broke ranks and screamed in from behind, forcing Hound to spin and counter the attack. Luckily, his palms were coated with dust from destroyed concrete, insulating him against the electric shock. With a heavy-handed clap, he trapped the kremzeek and crushed it.

Knowing his friends could take care of themselves, and aware that Bumblebee could really need him, Sam quickly began to weave his way through the growing frenzy. For every leech or kremzeek taken down, two or three more rose from the Nile River. It was as if the water had become a gateway of some sort- opening straight to hell. There was no time to feel horror for the monsters, though sometimes is was impossible not to feel cold dread when a faceplate appeared that had once been an Autobot, a comrade, a friend.

To their credit, the Autobots never showed hesitation in battle, even when an occasional loved one proved to be taken to the dark side. Just because the enemy bore the faceplate of a friend didn't mean their friend was still in there. It was no more than an empty shell of nightmares. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker still cut through the ranks with their usual thirst for carnage. Hound fought bravely, though he could occasionally be heard apologizing. By the end of the battle, he would mourn.

Sam was the most fortunate of the warriors, being the only one never to recognize who he was shooting. However, his misfortune came from being so small. As Hound had warned him, for all the power he wielded, he was still only human. He could still die like a human. When using a traditional weapon like the one attached to his arm, he didn't have the same firepower as someone sixteen feet or taller, nor could he risk wrestling with the smaller kremzeeks without suffering bone-deep burns across his body. The most he could do was point and shoot to keep them at bay. Trained reflexes kept him from being smeared into the ground.

Seven years of studying their unusual opponents had given them the advantage of weapons designed to specifically counteract their unusual powers. Guns that could be alternated between plasma and insulating foam to drown a kremzeek. Blades coated in a compound that resisted an energy leech's draining ability, allowing for the blade to stay attached to the Autobot who owned it while parting a leech's head from its body.

Muffled explosions rocked the air around Sam as he ran. With each flying lunge he took through the dark, he thanked God for all the running experience he had- on the track and invariably running for his life. He could feel the detonation vibrating through him, always flashing him back to that very first battle he had to fight. That very first time he ever truly had to run for his life. That always made him run faster. His sense of hearing might have been impaired, but his other senses shot into overdrive. Adrenaline flooded him. He dived, weaved, pivoted, and shot at anything that came too close.

"Bee!" he screamed. "Bumblebee!"

The night was briefly illuminated by a blast of blue plasma, silhouetting the large outcropping of rock it had come from behind. A sudden surge of hope rocketed through Sam as he recognized the blast pattern. _Bumblebee!_ He was alive and still fighting!

"Hang on, buddy! I'm coming!" Sam roared, though he could scarcely hear himself.

Daggers whistled overhead, blades burying deep into the necks of two leeches that had been coming straight at Sam. A rush of movement soared over him, gold blazing bright in the night. Sunstreaker quickly engaged the monsters, gripping the exposed hilts of the daggers and ripping them out, severing heads from frames. Too many leeches were closing in. While a small horde remained clawing at the turbines for energy, too many of them were focusing on the Autobots. Too many hands were reaching out. Too much energy was being drained.

"-we might have ta fall back!" Hound suddenly bellowed above the melee, backed into the steep wall of the ravine.

"Hate to admit it, but we need backup!" Sideswipe snarled, dodging around a rainbow of kremzeeks. He threw hunks of dirt, dust, and muck at them. Some drowned, others grew infuriated. He transformed to get away from them, only to find that his wheels were too mired in muck to get far. With a screech of forced transformation, he leaped to his feet again and ran. "We are so fragged!"

Sam might not have been able to hear the warrior properly or read his mouthplates, but he understood their sentiments nonetheless. The direness of the situation was only going from bad to worse. The last thing any of them wanted to do was fall back. They did that and Merowe Dam was done for. It would mean a whole lot of shit for them and horrible consequences for the people of Sudan. It would mean they had failed in their promise to protect. With so many leeches and kremzeeks, they would spread into the town looking for energy. Lives would be lost. A lot of them.

However- much more of the endless rain, and they going to be _forced_ to fall back or die themselves. Bumblebee would be left to fend for himself. That was a thought Sam refused to entertain.

"We just need to hold out a little longer!" the human hollered.

"Easy for you to say!" Sunstreaker cursed, clawing at the horde of kremzeeks adhering themselves to his frame.

"All I need is an opening to make a run for that rock formation over there." Sam cut a violent gesture in the right direction. "Bee's on the other side!"

"Good luck with that, human! We're all a little busy at the mo-!" The warrior's words were cut off with a strangled snarl as a surge of leeches caught him off guard. The combined distraction of energy leeches and kremzeeks sent him to the ground, armour sparking as it ground against the concrete. He grappled with a number of leeches scrambling atop him, his only saving grace being that he was so filthy with sand, muck, and silt that there was no room for the leeches to make direct contact. His optics were alternating between a wild mix of red and blue. His gaze shot wide and horrified as something beyond the fight caught his attention.

"Sam! The Fallen-!"

"_Where-?" _That moment of distraction cost Sam, taking a leech's hand to the stomach. His uniform protected him from being drained, but the beast still packed a punch. Adrenaline dulled the pain of colliding with the steep ravine walls, now jagged and cracked. His skull collided with the rock, stars exploding before his eyes- or was that lightning? He sprang to his feet again, shaking himself off. Dizziness nearly put him to his knees, but he pushed it down. He rushed for Sunstreaker, shooting at the horde of zombified transformers piling on the Lamborghini.

Sam knew he was taking his endurance to the limit, but there was nothing for him to do except keep fighting. There was no Autobot he would leave behind. They were as much his family as Bumblebee was his brother. His gun arm went numb. Bones felt like they turned porous and brittle. Muscle turning stringy. A throbbing headache pounded behind his eyes, burning at the back of his neck; his vision throbbed in time to the pain.

Hound found an opening of his own and rushed for them, adding his own firepower to the mix. As soon as Sunstreaker was cleared, Hound threw up a minor force field to give them a few seconds' worth of safety. Sam whipped around on the golden Autobot.

"What about the Fallen?" he demanded.

Sunstreaker gained shaky footing, his vents heaving desperately. "Around the bend-! He's with Bumblebee!"

As if to confirm the warrior's words, Bumblebee's frenzied plasma blasts grew dimmer in the distance.

"That's not good," Hound surmised grimly.

"No shit," Sam spat. "I've had enough of this. We're not getting anywhere fighting through this horde, and Bumblebee still needs backup. If we're going to make a push, it's got to be _now_." His blood roared in his ears, his pulse hammering wildly through his veins, throbbing beneath his skin. He drew in a deep breath, held it, and blew it out again. Not a lick of calm came to him, but a moment of concentration did. He reached deep, grabbing hold of something impossibly huge within him. Like trying to tie reins to a hurricane. Pulling it up was like turning himself inside out. The air thickened around him. Palpable tension coiled.

"Drop the shield, Hound," Sam ordered tightly.

"Sam, there are other options," Hound warned, even as Sideswipe flung by the shield into the water again. He flailed like a dying fish before disappearing from sight.

"We don't have any more options. It's this or die," Sam countered. "Now drop the shield!"

Sunstreaker cast a hard glance at the scout. "Do it, Hound. Let him do what he wants."

"And if he doesn't wake up from it this time? How am Ah supposed to explain that to Mikaela?"

"She'll understand. She always does," Sam said through gritted teeth. "Now. Drop. The. Goddamn. Shield."

Hound's faceplate hardened. "Fine."

A brief burst of light illuminated the dome that had been erected around them. It dispersed as quickly as it had appeared. In that same moment, Sam grasped the release on his blaster, wrenching the lever so the connectors tore out of his arm. He threw it aside, ignoring the blood that poured from the angry red holes in his elbow and wrist. He reached up and ripped the eye piece off, tearing the cord from his neck. Lights flashed before his eyes with the sudden burn that shot down his spinal cord.

"Brace yourselves," the human warned darkly as he drew in another deep breath. He let the alien feeling of raw power loose in him, releasing the frayed reins he held on the storm. To be filled by the power was strange, terrifying, and always exhilarating. Like getting to the very top of a mile-high roller-coaster and staring at the sheer drop below in the split second before you fall. It was never a tame feeling. Never something that he was completely in control of. Sometimes the power had a mind of its own. But usually, if he wanted it badly enough, Sam could direct it... sort of.

With the shield gone, there was nothing hold the leeches or kremzeeks at bay. They fell in like a tidal wave. The first to dive for Sam was a neon-green kremzeek the size of a horse. Under normal circumstances, Sam would have been running for his life. Now he braced his feet apart, squaring his shoulders. As the lightning beast converged on him, Sam lashed out with his arms and released the built up tension within him. It manifested in the form of a concentrated blast of bright blue power.

It lasted for all but a single moment in time. A stark afterimage burned brightly into witnesses' eyes and optics. So hot that it left the air fried, crackling. Steam from vapourized water settled heavily in the air. Melted concrete oozed. A huge swath of their enemy horde was now cut away. Whomever had been unfortunate enough to stand in the way no longer existed. There was still too many of them, though.

Sam took aim again, gritting his teeth against the sudden burn that roared through his body. Fire that spread from the soles of his feet to the tips of his hair. It was an agony that surpassed physical definition, searing straight to his soul. So much power. Too much power. Humans weren't meant to take this kind of punishment. The consequences- they'd get him in the end. He saw the first dregs of blackness circle his vision, though he ignored the warning sign. There were still too many monsters standing. One more blast- that's all he needed. One more. Just one more.

The air crackled again, power rising.

The last release of energy cut a burning path right across the water into the concrete of the dam itself. For a single moment in time, the entire complex took on a life of its own as a halo of blue encompassed it. The lights burned extra bright. The wet concrete glistened, glowed. In a flash, all leeches that had been gorging themselves on exposed turbines found themselves subject to more energy than they could handle. Likewise, the kremzeeks that had dug themselves deep into the mechanics of the dam found themselves vapourized.

Sam's world narrowed to nothing but a pinpoint of blue light. Then blacked out completely.

The power in the air did not dissipate as it should have.

"Sam, pull it back! It's too much. _Pull it back_," Hound ordered, forced to his knees under the pressure bearing down on him from all sides.

If anything, the air grew thicker.

As dangerous as the gesture was, Hound reached for the human. "Sam-!" Raw energy lanced through the air, throwing the scout back. Sideswipe was scrambling out of the mire of the Nile, close enough to help the Autobot up.

"Damn, he really went for it this time," the red warrior cursed lowly.

All around them, the Cybertronians felt the Allspark's power. They were forced to bow to it, or else be crushed by the immense gravitas that filled the atmosphere. It was what made their sparks soar and tremble at the same time. Power that was neither good nor evil, but endlessly immense all the same. The source of their creation... and possibly their destruction.

"Sam, remember Bumblebee!" Sunstreaker choked out.

Sam's head jerked up, ancient eyes turning to regard them. Too blue. Too electric. Like twin beacons blazing through the night. The stars that had reappeared in the sky paled in comparison. Not as old. Not as knowing.

"I haven't forgotten."

* * *

Bumblebee landed in a crouch, poised to spring again at his attacker. He didn't dare raise his battle-mask to spit to the side, though the urge was strong. Energon was congealing between the slates in his mouthplates. He'd already tried once to spit and learned his lesson for it. The Prime lookalike had come out of nowhere, _literally_, and managed to bitch slap him so hard his faceplate caved in. Thankfully, Bumblebee's optic had stayed in its socket. He didn't like that it was rattled loose, though. He could feel it jiggling. It was a small blessing that he could still see with it. Being even half-blind in a fight like this would spell his death.

"This is pitiful," sighed the dark mech.

"I'm just getting started," Bumblebee assured darkly.

"I should hope so," came the reply in a provokingly even tone. "Otherwise, I shall be bored to death. And you shall simply be put to death."

Bumblebee came out of his crouch, shifting into a protected defencive stance. "Shouldn't we get to know each other first? Seems rude to kill on the first date."

"Ah, and I would hate to be rude," said the mech with a slight inclination of his head. Immediately he was proved to be the hypocrite, since he did not offer information on himself. He did not adopt a similar pose of battle-readiness as Bumblebee did. Instead, he stood back and let his burning red optics wander the full length of Bumblebee's frame. It was hard to read whatever expression the mech wore, but it was vaguely... curious? However purely malevolent, lacking in any form of warmth, there was still a pensive kind of consideration in those cursed red optics.

Where the creature's gaze touched, it left Bumblebee dirtied. Like he'd never be clean again.

"Let's start with the basics- what the pit are you?" Bumblebee demanded, seeing as he'd have to be the one to get the bizarre introductions rolling.

The reply was disconcertingly quick and simple. "I am your brother."

"I have only one brother, and he is human," Bumblebee growled.

Shadow-Prime was unfazed with this information. "I am your brother, Bumblebee. I am from the same empty spaces you are."

"You're a liar!" A cold thrill raced through the scout's frame. There were very few bots who knew where Bumblebee was truly from. There were none who came from the same place.

"Not about this," said the shadow-Prime with a solemn shake of his head. "Never about this."

The scout bristled, coldness sinking deeper. "How do you know my designation?"

Another smile that never reached through blood-red optics. "I would know you anywhere."

"I don't know you."

"But _I _know _you_. Very well, in fact."

The bile of desperate denial rose in Bumblebee, choking him. Where the hell were the others? Where was Sam? Hound? The Primus-damned _Twins?_ Why weren't they coming for him? Did they all succumb to the leeches and kremzeeks?

"Distracted, are we?" asked the dopplegänger as if reading Bumblebee's thoughts.

"Hardly," the scout assured tightly.

"Good. It would be such a shame to lose interest so soon after meeting."

Lose interest? Ha! There was no way in the pit Bumblebee could possibly lose interest in the mech- not if he wanted to stay alive. He was as intrigued by the bot as he was horrified by him. He was the mirror image of Optimus Prime cast in shadows, details skewed into the gothic, yet to Bumblebee's sensors, he was not there at all. No heat signatures. No proper proximal warnings. Not even a Primus-damned spark signature! It was as if the mech were a ghost. The longer Bumblebee stood in the creature's company, though, the more he wanted to say _demon_.

"What are you?" the Autobot demanded yet again.

Sinuous mouthplates curled upwards in a cryptic gesture "I am like you. I am Nothing."

"You are nothing like me!" Bumblebee automatically spat, revulsion rushing through him.

"Exactly," replied the mech, his voice chillingly smooth. Disconcertingly soothing. His cryptic smile deepened. "I am Nothing, like you."

"That's not what I meant!" Bumblebee snipped.

An optic ridge arched. "Are you sure?"

"You are _**nothing**_ like me!" the scout reiterated sharply, bristling. "I don't know who you are! I don't even know _what _you are!"

That sinuous smile grew wider, the monster's gaze turning truly condescending. "Then you know Nothing."

Fed up with going in verbal circles, Bumblebee lunged. His arm was already transformed, firing furiously.

In complete opposition to his initial attack, the shadow-Prime proved to be a self-contained, disciplined fighter. As the plasma blasts approached, he moved with serpentine grace to avoid them. Such speed and accuracy, with absolute knowledge of his own frame- where to move, how, and when. Not many could avoid even one shot at close range. This prodigal monster avoided several.

"Frag!" It was too late for Bumblebee to pull back, his momentum too great. He was forced to engaged the shadow-Prime, fists cocked. Like the plasma blasts, Bumblebee's attack was easily, borderline pathetically, countered. The other mech stepped in, went low, and thrust the heel of his hand up into scout's chin. Bumblebee's head snapped back with a crack. A foot rammed hard into the centre of his chest, throwing him back.

"I'm surprised by how easy you're making this," commented the dopplegänger offhandedly. "Didn't you just suggest we get to know each other better? How rude."

Bumblebee launched another attack, swinging low in an attempt to sweep his opponent's feet out from underneath him. The attack was easily avoided with a jump, though the dopplegänger remained in the air for a fraction longer than what was entirely possible. He lashed out and caught Bumblebee's chin with his foot, the force of the blow ripping the scout's battle-mask clean off.

"There now, we can see each other's faceplates," said the mech in a mockery of cordiality. "We can't get to know each other if we can't see each other's faceplates."

Bumblebee's hand went to his throbbing chin, steeling himself against the sudden burn as he jerked the lower half of his faceplate back into place. The moment he could speak freely again, he snarled. "I'd like to rip your faceplate off. Bet you'd get to know me real well after that."

"Vicious," laughed the mech. "I like that."

Before Bumblebee could spit an acid retort, he was brought up short by a startling cry that rose up beyond the rocks to his back.

"_Bee! ...Bumblebee!"_

Sam.

Bumblebee's spark soared. Thank Primus Sam was okay! He prayed for Hound and the twins' lives, hoping they were still alive too. With the brief flood of hope came the scout's second wind. He shot a quick pattern of plasma blasts into the sky to signal where he was. Sam obviously saw the signal, because his voice quickly rose on the wind in reply.

"_Hang on, buddy! I'm coming!" _

"Human," murmured the dopplegänger, canting his head.

Determined to distract his opponent until help arrived, Bumblebee attempted to engage him physically again. This time, their bout lasted much longer. Bumblebee was prepared to fight as dirty as possible. Growing up with mentors like Jazz and the twins, it was impossible not to learn how to fight a little dirty to get what you wanted. Bumblebee knew how to fight really dirty when he needed to. He lost one of his doorwings in the confrontation, and also ended up having one of his horn-like antennae ripped off, but he finally dealt some damage of his own. In exchange for his doorwing, he buried a blade in his opponent's side, ripping open a healthy gouge. He let his antennae be taken so he could get in close enough to drive his plasma blaster into the centre of the mech's chest and fire several times.

They shrieked in unison as the backlash of the attack threw them apart. Bumblebee skidded across the concrete, coming dangerously close to being thrown into the dark water of the Nile. As the smoke cleared, his opponent proved far more resilient in the face of such an attack. His dark armour hosted only a shallow dent, still smoking, some of the metal still glowing red-hot. A hand gently patted away the wound with absentminded care.

"That was a little more impressive," commended the mech.

"There's more where that came from," Bumblebee replied snidely, sounding more confident than he felt. Please let Sam get to him soon!

"Of course. There's always more where _we_ came from." That smile again. That strange glint to his optics. Knowledge and utter madness mixed together.

Bumblebee came to his knees, hefting his blaster. He needed to buy more time. "Where _we _come from? You keep saying that. You mind telling me where the pit we're supposed to be from?"

"First, let's do away with that blaster, shall we? Making nice is so hard when there's a gun pointed at you." The mech cast a flippant gaze to the left over Bumblebee's shoulder. "Psi, if you please?"

A vague wave in the air, and then Bumblebee found himself flooded with numbing cold. He gasped, tried to jerk away, but found himself frozen to the spot. On his knees, in the most vulnerable position he could be in. The metal of his frame felt as if it had turned to stone. Ice trickled through his energon lines, freezing him solid. His arm moved of its own volition, the gun barrel turning to lay against his own head. Never had be been unfortunate enough to be possessed by the Fallen before, but the experience was something he would never forget again. To be prisoner in his own body. To be at the mercy of his own gun. Chilling. Sickening. Horrifying.

"There, that's better, yes?" Assured that Bumblebee wasn't going anywhere, shadow-Prime glided closer. He crouched to be level with the yellow bot's optics. Large, cold hands came up to frame Bumblebee's faceplate, and the minibot was helpless in trying to shake the demon off. There came again that pensive stare full of curiosity and appraisal. "I owe my very existence to you, Bumblebee."

Bumblebee gritted his mouthplates, trembling with the effort to reclaim his body. Only his mouthplates were his own- a small blessing. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do, you have to know," insisted his foe. "Your very existence is what inspired my creation. I come from nothing because you did the same."

"I come from the Allspark. All transformers do," the scout lied desperately.

The air suddenly became charged. Palpable energy prickled down their armour. A sudden release of blue-white power lit the dark of night. Bumblebee knew instantly _who_ it was. He could feel the Fallen within him writhing- in excitement? The beast knew _what_ the energy meant.

Shadow-Prime ignored the initial explosion, his attention solely for his captive. "Not all Transformers come from the Allspark. Not any more. You already know that." Those awful hands, deceptively gentle, ran over the sides of Bumblebee's faceplate, caressing it. "You came into this world without it. You proved that it was possible-."

"How do you know that-? !"

"I know a lot a of things," shadow-Prime assured, becoming ever more cryptic. "Because of you, my master was able to make me. He was _inspired_ by you."

Bumblebee wanted to purge at the mere thought of being an inspiration for whatever this thing was.

"Our sparks are pure. We have never been tainted by the Allspark. We're from someplace else. You've always known, haven't you? Even without being told, you questioned. I can see it in your optics."

"No! That's not true-!" And yet... and yet... A part of Bumblebee trembled. He'd always wondered about where he came from. Circumstances surrounding his...discovery? Didn't always add up. The Allspark has been sequestered long before the orn Optimus had brought him to Iacon, but no one had ever questioned that Bumblebee's spark was Cube-born.

"I would never lie about this, dear brother mine," assured the other mech, sultry passion infusing into his voice. "I had to come here to meet you, Bumblebee. I had to see you. Touch you. I brought that swarm to keep the others busy so we could be alone. I wanted to know what you were like. If your spark was anything like mine..."

"You don't have a spark!"

"Oh yes I do, it's right here." He patted his obsidian-dark chest. "Mine is special, like yours."

A second explosion came, blasting the night apart.

This time, shadow-Prime did look up with a frown. "That energy... Psi, what is it?"

Bumblebee felt his mouthplates moving on their own, speaking with a voice that sent shivers racing through him.

"That, my dear Nemesis, is the Allspark. It seems they've brought it with them."

Nemesis, if that was his designation, frowned a little deeper. "I only came for Bumblebee tonight."

"And I only came for fun. I guess we're both getting more than what we bargained for," the Fallen laughed. "We're not prepared to take it, so wrap up your family reunion."

Bumblebee gagged as he regained possession of his mouthplates. A stale aftertaste remained with the lingering flavour of rot.

"I'm sorry we don't have more time," Nemesis sighed as he leaned in close, taking a deep drag of air as if to absorb Bumblebee's essence. "What I wouldn't give for more time with you. The things we could talk about..."

A third blast of Allspark energy. That was taking things too far. Sam knew better!

Nemesis pressed his forehead to Bumblebee's. Where their metal touched, dirt sank in. Deep, dark, disgusting dirt that would never wash off. "You can feel the connection, can't you? The affinity between us?" Bumblebee felt only the sensation of sinking. Of being sick. He felt something digging in and taking root. A stain setting in, becoming permanent. "I understand you better than any other living being in the universe, because I am most like you. I come from the same empty places. I might know you better than you know yourself."

For a split second, Bumblebee was horrified to find himself _curious_. What if Nemesis truly did have the answers he had sought? Could the mech really have been created without the Allspark? Did that mean Bumblebee wasn't alone in the universe anymore?

An electric crackle in the air heralded the approach of a new figure. The air radiated with warmth. Static electricity sang.

"Move away from him," Sam ordered, approaching without fear. Eyes blazing. The air around him alive like a lightning storm. He wasn't all Sam anymore.

Nemesis arched an optic ridge, shifting away from Bumblebee but not rising to his feet. "You are human."

Sam turned his unblinking gaze upward, meeting Nemesis's blood-red stare. "Am I?" His hand rose, lightning lashing between his fingers.

Bumblebee was assaulted with a wave of glee that was not his own. He crumbled to the ground as the Fallen released him. To the scout's absolute horror, he was forced to witness the sight of an oily cloud pouring from him. It hung in the air, blacker than black. A vague shape made of nightmares. Undoubtedly the Fallen. He was laughing hysterically, as if the sight of Sam were the funniest thing in the universe.

The Allspark's power rose to a fever pitch.

"Nemesis, my pet," called the cloud- _the Fallen_, Bumblebee thought sickly. The monster sounded way too cheerful. "This has been a _very_ informative night, but we've outstayed our welcome. Our grand exit awaits." The Fallen disappeared like smoke on the wind, Nemesis pulling to his feet to step back into the blackened portal that formed behind him. However, he offered one last linger look for Bumblebee. A promise that they would meet again.

Bumblebee's attention zeroed in on his best friend. Sam was past his limit. Too far past his limit. Energy dissipated. His raised arm dropped heavily to his side like a lead weight. He swayed on his feet.

"Sam, say something," pleaded the scout. The night became so silent he could hear the human's heartbeats.

One beat. Another.

And then nothing.

Sam's eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground.


	4. To Return Home

Whoa~ I have got to say, I was so stunned by the reviews for the last chapter that there was no way I couldn't respond to them all! For all the love you've shown me, I have to give it right back to you! XD Each and every single one of you made my week-long vacation at my grandparents' so much better! I swear, your reviews inspired me to work as hard as I could to get this chapter out. It's a quiet chapter, but it boasts of necessary reintroductions to some very familiar characters we will be seeing from now on. =) So, for your reading enjoyment, I present you to the latest chapter of _May We Never Let Go_!

But before that- here's Thank You Corner! 8D

**Renegadewriter8**- The plot is only beginning to thicken, my friend. There is more to come, I promise. =P

**Flameshield**- Oh my gosh, I love the "Who's on First" comedy sketch! 8D I wasn't thinking of that when I wrote the Nothing scene, though. =P Nemesis calling himself Nothing is actually a play on Psi calling himself No One in _Surface of the Sun_. Both characters like to mess with peoples' minds. XD

**Juzu**- You're very right, my friend- Sam has a nasty habit of over doing things. He's gotta learn to hold some things back before he hurts himself. .

**Balrog Roike**- Give ol' Nemesis Prime a little bit of time to establish himself, my dear. =P If he learns anything from hanging out with the Fallen, it will definitely be how to be creepy. XD Although, he may never be able to match the Fallen's/No One's epic creepiness... O_o You're definitely right about Bumblebee not listening to his "brother"... Nemesis may not be very badass yet, but he surely isn't someone you should trust, either. . Hopefully BB never took anything to spark. _

**KyuubiSango**- There certainly is a connection between Bumblebee and Nemesis Prime, since their origins are so similar, but whatever becomes of them in the future... only time will tell. O_o T

**Phoebe Turner**- Thanks so much~!

**Cynthia**- You just got to keep cheering for the good guys, my friend. It may seem like the universe is against them (which it pretty much is), but they're still going to put up one hell of a fight! =D

**Bluebird Soaring**- Cliffhangers are to much fun not to use, my dear! XD Sam doesn't know when to quit, that's for sure. Poor guy is going to get himself in a spot he can't get out of one of these days. =( As for Bee accepting Sam as his brother, he announced it in the epilogue of As We Come Together. Those two are basically family now. =)

**1bloodtempest**- Sorry about the cliffhanger, my friend- they happen to be my dirty little pleasure. XD If they do their job to entice readers to come back for more, then all the better! ^_^ If you enjoyed the Twins' interaction of the last chapter and are curious to see what has become of Sam and the others, then this is definitely the chapter for you! 8D

**Dazja**- I think Bumblebee would really like to know exactly where he came from right now, too. XD Oh well, you'll both find out sooner or later. =P

**TheBluePaintedWeirdo**- Oh no, my dear- Sam isn't dead (yet). I like him too much to kill him (right now). ^_^ I'm really glad that you like how I've evolved his character into the man he is now. Miles will be showing up this chapter and I do hope you like him, too. He's such a fun character- so easy to write. He's a little more mature, like everyone else, but he's still the Miles Lancaster we know and love. =)

**Chloo**- Sam still has his issues with being human and losing his humanity, but he's definitely grown up to the point where he's not afraid to sacrifice himself for his friends and family. He'll push himself as far as he can go just so long as he can make sure everyone is safe. =) But once again, you have stunned me with your incredible insightfulness: I am indeed building Nemesis Prime as an intelligent enemy. Perhaps a little more coherent than Psi, but definitely a twisted, evil figure nonetheless. _

**Eerie Iri-** Thanks so much, my dear! I'm glad that Nemesis's interaction with Bumblebee has intrigued you. There will be more to come, I promise. =P

**Sebastian Nyte**- It sounds like you really enjoyed everything in the chapter! Thanks so much for reviewing~ I hope you enjoy this chapter just as much. ^_^

My usual love to **FunkyFish1991 **for her efforts in editing, even though she's away on vacation and should be vacationing rather than editing. That just goes to show how awesome she is. I mean is when I say she is the Johnny Quick to my Flash... in that we both look good in spandex. XD

Read, Review, & Enjoy~

**May We Never Let Go  
To Return Home**

"Okay, try that."

Sunstreaker carefully tried to roll his shoulder, halting halfway through the motion with a grimace. In his shoulder, something made an angry grinding noise. "There's something still jamming the joint."

Bumblebee sat back with a sigh, rubbing his forehead where his armour had stained black. "I've tried everything to fix it. Ratchet will have to take a look at it when we land."

Sunstreaker nodded solemnly, gripping the joint. With the neural relays off, he wasn't in any discomfort. He only found it bothersome to be handicapped in such a way. Not that his was the worst of the group's damages.

"I got dibs on Ratchet first," Sideswipe intoned from his spot nearby, his back planted against the inner walls of the cargo plane. "At least you still have both your arms, bro. I need a whole new one."

"If you wouldn't keep losing that arm, you wouldn't be having this problem," Sunstreaker said with a shake of his head.

The red warrior pouted. "I keep telling you, it's not my fault! Ever since Uni-aft rusted my arm off, it's like I'm cursed! Seriously! _Cursed!_" He waved his one remaining arm around. "It's not like I go into battle looking to have it torn off! It just happens!"

"Whiner," the golden mech snorted.

"I can still hit you with one arm, Sunny- don't tempt me to do it," Sideswipe warned.

"Try it and I'll rip that arm off and hit you back with it," Sunstreaker replied, casting his brother a challenging grin.

Bumblebee frowned, dropping his hand from his forehead in order to fix the pair with a dark stare. "Stop it, the both of you. It's bad enough right now without listening to you."

Hound glanced up from the souvenirs he was trying to sort into two piles. "Don't make me stick you two in separate corners."

Sunstreaker wrinkled his olfactory sensor. He was tired, filthy, and looked like death warmed over; he was so _not_ in the mood for being treated like a sparkling. He shot a glance to his brother, who shrugged complacently and went back to poking at his armless shoulder.

Hound eyed them both carefully before returning to his previous task, obviously satisfied that he wasn't going to have to enforce his threat.

Bumblebee gave an annoyed sigh, turning over to crawl his way back to his staked out spot in the cargo hold of the plane. He sat as close as possible to Sam's stationary body where it rested on a cot bolted to the floor. The human was in a death-like state, his breathing barely noticeable and his heartbeats almost negligible. The tan he had developed over the month was washed out by the pallid look of his skin underneath. There was no way of telling when he would come out of stasis. Sometimes it was as short as an hour, and other times it could be as long as several months. It had already been two weeks since the incident at Merowe Dam and there was still no change in the human.

As Bumblebee settled down, he cast Sunstreaker a strange look. Sunstreaker snorted, realizing he'd been staring at the scout. He quickly looked away, sliding back into his own designated spot in the cargo hold. The wall was solid against his back. For something to do, he dragged his maintenance kit out from subspace and once again began the tedious task of making himself look presentable. With the state he was in, the effort was almost laughable.

Tension remained heavy in the belly of the EDC plane.

Merowe ended up being yet another fiasco to crucify the Cybertronians with. Even though the Autobots had stuck around for two freaking weeks to help with cleanup and install the promised anti-leech and anti-kremzeek protection, humans still looked at the sorry amount of structural damage caused by the fight and shook their heads at it. Sure, Sunstreaker and the others had risked their lives to keep the dam from crumbling. They had fought a small army of freaks to keep the people safe. Hell, Sam had risked the most out of all of them by going Allspark on everyone's afts. But did any of that matter in the face of a couple million dollars worth of collateral? No.

Ungrateful organic fraggers.

Sunstreaker couldn't count the number of times he'd been tempted to simply drop the chunk of concrete he was lifting onto the nearest sneering news reporter. Or he could have pushed Sideswipe onto one of the news vans incessantly rolling around their feet. Even a good old localized EMP blast would have been nice. Anything to scatter the humans. Yeah, that would have only made things worse in the long run, but the instant gratification it would have served would have been nice.

Was a thank you too much to ask for?

Only Samir had been tolerable, offering them refuge at his own small oasis of a house. His garage had thankfully been large enough to fit them all. Sam's body had been hidden in a bedroom of the Amal household where no one would see him in his current state. Not having their human ambassador around to make a statement over the attack had been bad. Having the whole planet aware that Sam was locked in a coma for an undetermined amount of time? It would have been so much worse.

And then there was Bumblebee's recent behaviour...

Acting strange was an understatement in regards to Bumblebee as of late. Whatever had happened between him and the Nemesis figure must have been big. Traumatizing, in fact. The minibot refused to talk about it. He reported only what was necessary; what Nemesis's designation was; Nemesis's alliance with the Fallen, and by extension with Unicron; the brief battle waged between Nemesis and himself. He avoided optic contact when speaking of the events, evading questions that asked about what Bumblebee spoke about with the new threat. Not to mention the new stain the scout was sporting on his forehead. It looked like nothing more than a black oil smudge, yet it resisted all conventional methods of removal. It was sunk right into the metal itself.

A tickle in the back of his mind announced Sideswipe's approach. Red armour appeared in the periphery before a smiling faceplate came into view leaning in a little too close.

"Need a hand?" Sideswipe offered, nodding to the wedge and magnet Sunstreaker held in his hands, inevitably to be used to help pop out his remaining dents.

Sunstreaker cocked an optic ridge. "Sure."

"Well, so do I! Need a hand, that is!" Sideswipe laughed, wiggling his armless-handless-shoulder.

"_Brilliant_," Sunstreaker replied flatly.

"I thought it was," Sideswipe chirped happily.

"It was funnier the first seven times," sighed the golden mech with a roll of his optics.

"If I didn't lose my arm so often, you wouldn't hear the jokes so much. But, seeing as my damn arm is _cursed-_," Sideswipe finished with a gesture of frustration that was supposed to convey both his annoyance at the situation and his determination to make everyone else suffer right along with him.

Sunstreaker, of course, had no need for the gestures. He understood just fine without them; he knew his brother's increasing irritation, felt it. If Earth had done anything for them since they landed, it had certainly brought them closer than they had been in eons.

Done with his theatrics, the red twin sagged. "And since popping out dents is a two-handed job, mind letting me do something less intensive? I could totally wipe you down or help get sand out of your armour."

"How about I pop a few of your dents out instead?" Sunstreaker offered, nodding to the space in front of him in invitation. "You could definitely use a..."

Sideswipe's mouthplates twitched. "Just say it."

A crooked half-smile appeared across the golden mech's handsome mouthplates. "You could use a hand."

"It's almost funnier when you say it," his twin snorted, scooting around so he sat facing his brother.

"That's because I'm not saying it every day." Sunstreaker eyed the damages his brother sported, familiar with what he saw and not liking any of it. The majority of it was on his front, the armour riddled with pockmarks and dents. Some dents were beginning to pop out on their own, but the deeper ones would need a little assistance. There hadn't been a lot of time in between cleaning up Merowe Dam and fending off news reporters for proper maintenance.

The next little while was spent in relative silence while the twins worked on each other. Thy managed to get through dents, wipe downs, and even a bit of polish for Sunstreaker before the end of their flight. Bumblebee did little except for occasionally run his fingers over Sam's body in reassurance that the human was okay. His aloofness kept him cut off from the others, a behaviour that the scout had never exhibited before. Hound was the least solemn of the group, now content with his piles of souvenirs sorted for his humans. He tucked it all away in subspace and managed to half-doze where he sat, head bobbing absently along with the country music he was listening to in his head.

It was another joor before the intercom crackled to life and the voice of the pilot came through.

"Everyone still alive back there?" asked the human.

"We're dying of boredom," Sideswipe replied easily.

"You're about to be a little less bored," informed the pilot. "I just thought I'd let you all know that we're coming up on the rifts. We'll be crossing them in a few minutes."

"Oh, _joy_," sighed the red Autobot, embodying the collective opinion of his comrades. Didn't matter how many times you crossed them, the rifts still made you want to purge. Actually, sometimes it really did make you purge.

Hound stretched out of his doze, groaning. "Thanks for the warnin'."

"No problem." The intercom died, their exclusive EDC pilot no doubt preparing himself for the unpleasant experience.

Sunstreaker leaned back against the cargo bay walls to brace himself, as did everyone else. True to their pilot's warning, an intense wave of nausea hit the Autobots shortly afterwards. They didn't have a lot of energon in their tanks, so were thankfully spared the indignity of involuntarily purging. Sunstreaker closed his optics and placed his hand over his mouthplates just in case, dragging deep breaths of stuffy, warm air through his vents. It was pit waiting for the feeling to pass.

Unicron's mark on the planet was as strong as the day he'd made it, and still about as welcome as rust spots.

The rift appeared to take its toll on Sam, as well. His bright eyes shot open, a raspy breath desperately sucked in before he twisted to the side and expelled the contents of his stomach. He hadn't eaten in two weeks, so the only thing to come up was bright yellow stomach acid. He threw himself back into his cot, panting hard.

Sunstreaker regarded the mess with barely veiled disgust. Just because the human happened to contain the Allspark's energy didn't mean he got a pass for all the gross things humans did. Purging in Cybertronians was so much cleaner; at least they could recycle the energon.

"Welcome back," Bumblebee murmured quietly, withdrawing Sam's canteen from subspace.

Sam merely groaned, grabbing the canteen and draining its stale contents desperately. Once done, he was once again on his back, panting harshly. His trembling was obvious enough to the Cybertronians who watched him. He looked especially weak to them, so small and mortal.

"How are your ears?" Hound enquired, leaning in to get a better look at the human. He even scanned the boy as a courtesy.

"Fine," Sam rasped. "I can hear just fine now." As if anyone expected any less. The Allspark was as much a healing force as it was a destructive one; sometimes it was both at the same time. Sam cleared his dry throat, meeting the gazes of the four Autobots in his company. He could see their discomfort. "We crossed the rift, I take it?"

"Yes, we'll be landing soon," Bumblebee informed.

"_Home,"_ Sam groaned appreciatively, daring a weak smile.

Bumblebee stroked his friend across the chest. "Thank you for risking so much to save me."

"Anytime." The human grimaced, clearing his throat. "Last thing I remember is you going over the ledge into the ravine. Anything I should know about now? Has anyone declared war on us?"

"You've been in stasis for two weeks," Bumblebee said. "Samir was very kind to us, though. He let us hide your body at his house."

Sam's cheeks stained pink. "That's, uh, good…" If there was anything the human hated most about his condition, it was the death-lock that followed any great show of power. It made him nervous to leave his body so vulnerable. He gave a distracting cough. "Is there, um- anything else I should know?"

"New freak on the block, calls himself Nemesis," Sideswipe chirped. "Kind of looks like Prime, but I say he's an upgraded version of a leech. No spark resonance, you know? Freaky fragger."

"I see…" Sam replied, raking his memory for any evidence of seeing Nemesis. He had a vague idea of something dark going over the edge with Bumblebee.

"Earth hates us again," Sunstreaker intoned flatly. "We saved their fragging dam and they're pissed at us for all the damage."

"That's nothing new," sighed the human. "Thanks for catching me up." He pushed himself to sit up, falling once when his arms gave out from underneath him. Bumblebee reached out to help his friend. Sunstreaker watched the scout carefully for a moment, arching an optic ridge. Bumblebee appeared to be in a better mood now that Sam was awake.

A jolt rattled the plane, announcing tyres hitting the tarmac. They ground to a slow halt and were forced to wait for the hatch to drop so they could disembark. Sunstreaker looked down at himself with a great degree of consternation. He looked a wretched mess. Even with all the work he and Sideswipe had put into fixing up his armour, he still wasn't up to his own high standards.

Sideswipe gave him a light nudge. "Just grin and bear it, Sunny."

The hatch touched down and revealed their welcoming party. Ratchet was the first to be seen, looking his usual stern self. Scans cast the gloom in shades of bright blue as the mech immediately went into medic mode, searching every little detail for what could be wrong. The next two to come into sight were a pair of humans. Reginald Simmons was no longer a pompous, know-it-all Sector Seven agent; he was now the pompous, know-it-all EDC director of cover ups. If something happened that the humans shouldn't know about, he was there to make everything disappear. The job was good for him, making use of his considerable areas of expertise. The downside of it all was that it also tended to make his sense of self-worth bloat to ridiculous proportions.

Next to the quintessential dark suit, black tie, polished shoes, and omnipresent cup of coffee Simmons donned, the human next to him was a splash of bright colour in scuffed sneakers, faded jeans, and a graphic t-shirt featuring two robots in an interesting pose with the words ROBUTT SEX emblazoned across the top. It was a shirt guaranteed to offend every Cybertronian to see it, yet Miles Lancaster wore it happily. Whereas Simmons acted as the behind the scenes guy for the transformers (and the occasional other alien species), Miles took on the considerable mantle of Public Relations- at least where the Nevadan base and its inhabitants were concerned.

Unconcerned with the welcoming party, Sunstreaker stretched and made his way out into the cool night. According to his chronometer, it was roughly ten at night. The stars were bright above them, the sky as clear and sharp as gleaming opal. Sideswipe followed out at his shoulder, trotting in his own nonchalant way. Hound loped behind the pair, peering over their heads to feed his insatiable sense of curiosity. Bumblebee was the last, waiting for Sam to gain his own feet before moving anywhere.

On the other side of the tarmac, a blazing red Ford Mustang honked its horn before transforming. A handsome Autobot came to his feet; no taller than 15 feet, he was powerfully built with a thrusting chest and broad shoulders.

"Looking good there, Sunny," Cliffjumper goaded, snickering as he gave the golden mech a once over.

Sunstreaker bristled, directing an incendiary glare at the minibot. "Come over here and I'll make you look even better."

The red mech looked tempted, but shot a glance to Ratchet and thought better of the offer. "Maybe next time, Sunshine. I got better things to do."

"Like what? Get trampled beneath everyone's feet, Shortie?" Sideswipe shot back, instantly to the defence of his brother.

Cliffjumper laughed, still walking away. "Look who's talking, gimpy!"

Now both twins bristled, long standing grudges with the minibot rekindled in an instant. As far as either twin was concerned, they could pick on each other as much as they pleased, but everyone else only did so at their own risk. Ratchet was smart to intercept them before things got ugly. He gave a short, sharp screech similar to what he would have used in the Youth Sectors to distract rowdy younglings, and then gave the interloping Mustang a hard look.

"Move along, Cliffjumper," he ordered sharply, which got the bot moving a whole lot faster. With the chance of a fight now gone, the twins deflated.

"Home sweet home," Sam sighed tiredly, scrubbing his face with his palm. Living with Autobots was not for everyone.

"You know it's home when you get here and the people make you want to leave all over again," Miles laughed, breaking rank with the others to embrace his friend.

With the dark of night set around them, his right eye was made especially obvious against the backdrop of his face. While his left was a normal moon-pale grey, his right eye glowed Cybertronian-blue. Unlike Sam, he was not affected by Allspark energy as a source of his mismatched eyes. Instead, the eye Miles had lost several years ago had been replaced by a cybernetic one. It was perfectly able to look like a normal eye when it needed to be, but for most of the time, Miles preferred the shock value of having it look freaky.

Sunstreaker snorted to himself, watching the humans embrace. _Home. _A sentiment he'd been hearing lamented over since they'd left on the mission. Unfortunately, he and Sideswipe weren't quite home yet. Nevada was where they stayed when on duty, but Carnéval on the east coast of Canada was where they called home. It would be up to Miles or one of the other various human operatives of the base to charter them a flight back home. Until then, they were stuck on base.

Miles suddenly gave a yelp, a plume of smoke rising out of his back pocket. He dug back there and pulled out a sparking, smoking iPad.

"Sorry," Sam sighed sheepishly.

"It's cool, bro," Miles assured while waving the smoking device around to cool it down. "I totally dropped it in the toilet yesterday anyways. I needed a new one." Once sure his fried iPad wasn't going to set his pants on fire, he stowed it away. "I gotta tell you, though- you five sure caused a nightmare for us back here. Attack on the dam and then our ambassador suddenly goes AWOL? You wouldn't believe the nasty rumours that crept up. We even had a herd of reporters try to flock Mikaela for a statement-"

Sam and Hound were instantly on alert, both demanding "Is everyone okay?" at the same time.

"Nah, it's cool. I got there with Smokescreen and Mirage before anything could happen," Miles assured, then gave them a wry grin. "You guys couldn't make this any more of a nightmare, could you?"

"Ya know it's not our fault," Hound said, now relieved to know his humans were okay. "We tried ta keep it low key, but then things just happened… It's not like we _planned_ ta make a fiasco out of it."

Simmons finally cut in, having had enough of standing on the sidelines. "Does it matter? It's still costing us- or should I say, it's costing _you_, since it's coming out of the Autobot account." He regarded the newly landed team with a hard stare. "We're looking at upwards of over ten million in negotiations."

"Greedy meat sacks," Sunstreaker sneered. He was not one of the Cybertronians who could claim his love of organics had gone far. "They just want to blame us for everything and then bleed us dry of all the money and resources they can get."

"That's lovely, Sunstreaker. Your opinion of my species warms my heart. And if you hadn't of noticed, these greedy meat sacks here are trying to minimize the shit storm," Simmons pointed out, gesturing between himself and Miles. "Now, if you're not all too busy, would you please kindly give me your versions of what the hell happened so I can get on with my life cleaning up after you people?"

"You're going to have to wait on that, Simmons- these bots need repairs first," Ratchet cut in, making his way to Sideswipe. The red mech tried to ease away, but was caught in the medic's vice-like grip. No chance of escape now. Ratchet cast a pointed stare down to the human agent, daring him to challenge his authority as he said, "You know how the chain of command works around here: they see me first and Optimus Prime second. You'll hear about what happened after Prime decides he's done with them."

Simmons' mouth firmed into a thin line. "That chain of command doesn't work for me. The longer you keep me out of the loop, the longer it takes for me to do my job properly."

Ratchet rumbled like a thunderstorm. "You'll have to make do. My patients' welfare comes first."

Bumblebee revved impatiently, pushing past everyone. "I don't have time for this, I'm going to my quarters," he intoned curtly. "Ratchet, you can repair me later- my welfare at the moment is just fine."

Surprised by the scout's tone, Ratchet stepped out of his way. Bumblebee didn't bother to meet anyone's gaze, nor did he return any of the greetings tossed his way by stray humans or transformers as he cut his way across the tarmac. Under the stark lights circling the large runway, he looked worse than ever before. Too soon, he disappeared into the sprawling labyrinth that had become of the Nevadan base.

The three members of the welcoming party immediately turned to Sam for answers, who could only shrug in return.

"Don't look at me, I've been out cold for days," the human fenced.

Attention turned to the other Autobots, who had about as much answers for everyone as Sam did.

"Whatever," Miles shrugged. "If he's cool being all antisocial, then let him. We all need to be grumpy once in a while."

Hound made a noise like clearing his throat. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble, Ah'd really like ta get mah dents pulled out before Ah go home. You know how Chase and Mikaela get when I show up like Ah rolled out of a junk yard." Like the twins, he didn't live on base. Unlike the twins, he didn't go very far, still living with the Banes as an oversized part of their highly dysfunctional family.

Sunstreaker put his hand to his shoulder. "A little repair work would be nice, actually. I got a kink in my shoulder that needs fix-ARGH!" A howl ripped from him as the medic put both hands to his shoulder and gave a good, hard twist. The noise of metal wrenching against metal had everyone cringing.

"There, how's that?" Ratchet asked, smirking.

It was on the tip of Sunstreaker's vocal processor to start spitting curses, but froze when he realized the kink was gone. He blinked, rolled the joint a few times, and then curved a dry smile. "It's fine now."

"Good, you just volunteered yourself to report to Optimus tonight," Ratchet announced, smug as ever. "I'll fix the rest of you later."

"_Sucker,"_ Sideswipe snorted from behind the medic's back.

Sam stepped up, looking like he would volunteer to go as well, but was cut off as Ratchet grabbed him from the ground.

"You're coming with me, boy. You're having a full work up whether you like it or not" ordered the medic, leaving no room for argument. He then arched his optic ridges to Sunstreaker. "You'll find Prime in the solarium."

Before he knew it, Sunstreaker found himself left in the dust as Ratchet dragged Sam and Sideswipe away, Hound happily following behind. Feeling two sets of eyes staring up at him, the warrior glanced down to the two humans still standing at his feet. They stared up at him, Simmons looking bland and Miles grinning in a way that annoyed the slag out Sunstreaker. He said nothing to them, transforming in a serpentine glide of sliding metal armour. He roared his engine and streaked out in the direction of the solarium.

He took the long way around, skirting around the base where he was least likely to be seen. While it was late for the humans and unlikely for many to be out, the risk of being spotted by fellow Cybertronians was enough for Sunstreaker to stick to the shadows. Though he was ridiculously tired, he was vain enough to make the effort. The only bot to see him in his pitiful state was Red Alert, whose obsessive installation of cameras made him near-omniscient of the goings on of the base. Thankfully, Red also knew when to keep quiet when it was good for him, and it was very good for his health to keep quiet about what Sunstreaker currently looked like.

As he approached his destination, Sunstreaker cut his engine and glided into a peaceful stop. The solarium rose up like a sparkling jewel in amongst the hard angles of grey military-grade buildings. It was an enclosure designed to fit Cybertronian tastes, large enough to fit their kind easily. The main reason it existed was for one Cybertronian in particular: Elita One. The Autobots had spared no expense for her, creating a small oasis where she could feel at home and feel safe. It was a confection of glittering reinforced glass, curling wrought iron fixtures, and a mix of Cybertronian and Earthling cultures. No where within was Elita cut off from seeing the sky, its octagonal shape giving a panoramic view of the desert the solarium edged; the walls that faced the base were stained glass to obscure the look of the caging metal vista beyond.

Transforming, Sunstreaker slipped in through the tall decorative door and clicked it shut politely behind him. From the dryness outside, he was hit by the drastic humid change inside. The air hung thick with the scent of organic life forms and heavy mugginess. It turned the dust coating him to a muddy paste, and it took all of the warrior's self-control not to shudder. Aside from his issues with the climate, the solarium was an artistic wonderland. The lights within were tasteful art pieces from inspired small-town artists, glittering magically against the backdrop of the night sky beyond the glass that domed overhead. Several tile fixtures boasted of vibrant paintings, a few of which Sunstreaker himself had donated time to create. The floor was an interesting mix of rich black earth and colourful mosaics made from reinforced polymers so they didn't crack under Cybertronian weight. Greenery overflowed in every direction, from creeping vines to exotic ferns, fascinating trees, and a rainbow of enchanting flowers. The solarium was not to every Cybertronian's tastes, but some found themselves here from time to time to absorb the serenity that hung as thick as the perfume of flowers in the air.

Scanning the solarium, Sunstreaker set off along the winding rows to where he knew a trio of sparks was gathered. Coming around the bend, he was struck by the perfect picture he came upon. As always, Elita One was a stunning beauty in her rose-coloured plating. She was a naturally graceful creature, enhanced by her delicate features. Her frame had been modified to remove all accents of war; she was now among the closest of all Cybertronians on Earth to be returned to her pre-war state. At the moment, she looked perfectly peaceful. To see her as such always flooded Sunstreaker with a wave of longing nostalgia, wishing for the peaceful orns before he had become a killer in the gladiatorial circuit- orns when he had been her apprentice, learning how to paint, following her around wherever she went in a daze of adoration and young love.

Sitting across from her at the crystal-and-wrought iron garden table designed for someone specifically Elita's size was Optimus Prime, managing to dwarf the furniture and his mate yet not make himself look foolish in the act. He was another figure of natural grace, though his came in the form of regal nobility. For as long as Sunstreaker had known the Prime, Optimus had always had the natural gift to command whatever room he stood in. Bots automatically found that they could respect him, trust, simply by virtue of how he was as a mech. He was a handsome figure, an equally lovely match to his sparkmate, though his frame still boasted the accoutrements of war. It was beyond Sunstreaker why the Prime kept those blasted flames for a paintjob, though. On Cybertron, he'd been regal in reds and blues, but here… Primus, it drove Sunstreaker insane wishing he could paint the Prime in something a little more dignified!

And then there was the third member of the trio, a tiny creature who made Sunstreaker pause for a moment. His spark fluttered, though he could never put a name to the reason why. She was a doll-like creature, no more than seven feet tall, her frame boasting of medical-class precision and dextrous thinness. So small was she compared to her company that she was required to sit on several large, empty energon cubes to see over the top of the garden table. She presented yet another form of grace, hers being darkly haunting. Most would think her creepy and downright weird. Her paint was a gothic confection of metallic green accented by swaths of black- added by Sunstreaker himself, which he prided himself on. One of her most striking features was the two large, black roses she wore magnetically adhered to her head; carved from the armour of her fallen partners, she wore them as her tribute to Worm and Trojan Horse. The roses were a much better option than mounting her dead comrades' heads on a wall, as she had originally planned.

She was known by the moniker Virus by most. The privilege of calling her by her original designation, Moonfly, remained solely Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's pleasure.

Fully aware of his approach, the three at the table turned to regard him with a range of expressions from warmly welcome to curiously blank. Sunstreaker was compelled to bow, doing so with as much polite elegance as he could muster in his lacklustre state. Being in his current company only made him increasing self-conscious of his wretched state, like a poor beggar in the presence of royalty. Normally something like this would put him in an increasingly foul mood. For Elita's sake, he remained neutral.

"Welcome back, Sunstreaker," Optimus Prime greeted warmly, prompting the warrior to rise from his bow. "I take it the others are with Ratchet?"

"He didn't give much of a choice," Sunstreaker replied, straightening in order to adopt an at ease pose.

"Ah, well, Ratchet generally knows what's best," Prime said, nodding. "No one was severely damaged, were they?"

Sunstreaker paused for a moment to appreciate listening to and speaking in his native language. It had been strictly human languages for the duration of the mission, a fact that had grated severely. The moment passed and he proceeded into a minor overview of injuries: "Sideswipe needs an arm reattached-."

Virus snorted indelicately into the tiny cube of sludgy coal-dust-and-sulphur mixed energon she adored.

"-Hound is so whipped he's afraid to show up home with a ding on him-."

Elita smiled with knowing amusement, taking a delicate sip from her bubbly hydrogen-rich energon to hide it.

"-and Sam went Sparky on us, so he's getting the usual scans done. He is awake, though. I think crossing the rift was enough to a jolt to bring him out of stasis."

Optimus frowned in concern. "The attack was so severe that he had to intervene?"

"It was a horde of them, Optimus- more than what we could have handled on our own." Which was saying a lot when Sunstreaker, of all mechs, was reporting that. "If Sam hadn't of stepped in, we would have all been drained."

This did not ease the Prime's initial concern. If anything, it extended it to include the entire team involved. "Shouldn't you be with Ratchet being looked after with the others? There was no need to seek me out here, especially if you're hurt. I would have been perfectly able to come to you in the med bay whenever you were ready to give a report." Because that was exactly the kind of Prime he was; he genuinely cared for his bots, not afraid to come down to their level for their own comfort.

Sunstreaker almost smiled. "Ratchet didn't give me much of a choice. I don't mind, though." His optics wandered to Virus, who met his gaze for a moment with her eerie unblinking stare before slowly looking away.

"You must be tired, nonetheless, dearspark," Elita One intoned. She wasn't quite the same strict femme commander everyone remembered, but no one expected her to be. She was softer now, withdrawn from the war as far as she could get. "Let us not waste any more of your time. You're welcome to give your report and then get some well-deserved rest and repairs."

Optimus was in complete agreement in the matter, inviting the report with a gesture of his hand.

Sunstreaker was quick and concise in his report. As all Autobots had been trained, he was not superfluous in detail. It was his job to report all pertinent information on the mission, nothing more, so that was what was said. He resisted complaining of the sun, sand, and incessant humans. He summarized their evaluations of the Egyptian dams and went on to describe their experiences in Sudan. He started with the appearance of the Fallen and the initial abnormal darkening of the sky, elaborating from there the horde of 50+ leeches that had attacked. He described the appearance of Nemesis, his uncanny resemblance to Optimus Prime, and his targeted attack on Bumblebee. In detached tones, he recounted how quickly their fight took a turn for the worse, how Sam immediately stepped up to do what needed to be done. Once done with the battle, Sunstreaker also described the aftermath of the encounter, from the clean up efforts to Bumblebee's disturbed behaviour and refusal to speak of what happened between him and the Prime-lookalike. Once finished, he waited on the Prime to speak again.

"That sounds like quite the encounter," Optimus said pensively, leaning back in his chair. "This Nemesis figure sounds more dangerous than the usual brand of monster we've been seeing as of late."

"He is," Sunstreaker confirmed in no uncertain terms.

Prime nodded. "It worries me that he targeted Bumblebee specifically. I'm even more worried that Bumblebee won't speak of the matter. As you know, he's normally very open."

"Perhaps he wasn't willing to speak of it with me, Sides, or Hound?" Sunstreaker offered, though even that sounded unusual. All three of them had been around since Bumblebee was young; the young scout had always held them in confidence. "If you give him some time to rest, he may be more willing to speak of it."

"We shall see," Prime ceded.

Elita pushed her chair back, rising to her feet. "I think I will go see him," she announced, surprising her mate and Sunstreaker. Most of the Autobots' quarters were underground, a place she staunchly avoided. For her to volunteer to go…

"I'll come with you," Optimus intoned, beginning to rise from his seat. He was waved back with a quick gesture.

"No, I'm fine to go such a short distance," Elita assured, taking her mate's hand to pat it lovingly between her own. "I'm perfectly safe here. The most dangerous creatures here are only Autobots, and they would never hurt me. Would they, Sunstreaker?" She turned her gaze to the golden warrior.

"Never," Sunstreaker automatically replied. "You'd never have to fear anything from us."

"Always such a poetic spark." Elita returned her gaze to her mate. "You see? I'm perfectly safe when I have the likes of the Twins looking out for me."

Sunstreaker couldn't help but feel extremely flattered by the sentiment. Of all the Autobots, Elita One had never seemed to lose her faith in him or his brother, even when they were at their worst. For that, she would always have his loyalty.

"If you begin to feel claustrophobic underground, just call," Prime insisted. Elita gave his hand one last pat before straightening and heading for Sunstreaker himself. She was fourteen feet to his eighteen, so she didn't have far to go to reach up and brush his faceplate with the tips of her fingers.

"I'm glad you and your brother came back all right," she said softly.

Sunstreaker couldn't help but smile softly. "Glad to be back."

With a soft laugh, she passed on into the foliage and disappeared. Once gone, Optimus revved quietly. Virus sucked back the last of her tar-like energon and jumped to the ground. Though it wasn't a long way to fall, she still stumbled. Brushing herself off, she skittered beneath the table and came to stand at Sunstreaker's feet, staring up at him.

"Did you bring me a leech?" she asked bluntly.

An optic ridge arched. "Is that all you have to say to me?"

Virus canted her head, thinking for a moment. "Yes. Where's my leech?"

"It's good to see you too, Moonfly," Sunstreaker sighed, rolling his optics. "I don't have a leech for you. I forgot to ask Sam not to vaporize them all before they killed us."

Virus missed the sarcastic tone, or she ignored. It was sometimes hard to tell with her. "Ask next time. I want one of those things to study for myself. I hate having to fly all the way here just to look at the one Perceptor keeps."

"Virus, we've discussed this- you do not have the resources at Carnéval to keep one of those creatures," Optimus intoned. "It's too dangerous."

"That's why we've been discussing resource reallocation, Prime," Virus replied curtly. "I had hoped we were getting somewhere with our negotiations."

"With energon and materials, yes. With regards to the captivity of leeches, no." That was something Prime would never renege on. The breach of ethics alone to have a leech within Virus's possession was enough to have Optimus balking. To put things bluntly: she had no ethics to speak of. Rarely did she even bother to have a conscience. The very thought of what she might do to the creature if she got her hands on a leech or kremzeek…

The femme snorted indelicately. "If you are going to be so uncompromising, I see no reason for staying here any longer. The rest of this meeting is unnecessary." She returned her attention to Sunstreaker, giving the Prime her back. Her gaze was as sharp as a scalpel as she looked the golden mech up and down. "You require repairs, yes? I will do them right now. Come, I can hardly stand looking at you right now." With an imperious gesture, she was gone into the foliage with the expectation that Sunstreaker would follow.

Sunstreaker hesitated, casting one last glance to the Prime.

"Go on, don't keep her waiting," Optimus said, rueful smile in place. "She's been near-unmanageable with you and Sideswipe gone. It's a blessing you're home so soon or she would have driven us all insane."

"She takes some getting used to," Sunstreaker chuckled. He glanced after the femme, smirking. "But, I'm glad to be home."


	5. To Speak and to Listen

Howdy, everyone~ After four months of sweet, sweet vacation, it's so hard to believe that university is about to begin in but a few short days. It appears that this will b my last update of the summer as a free woman. *shrugs* Oh well, that's the price you pay on your way to your doctorate, right? =P

Hopefully this newest instalment is worth that last little burst of summer~ I had one hell of a time trying to write it. Elita is such a deeply amazing character, flawed and yet so strong. I wanted to get her just right. And then there was Bumblebee still reeling from his encounter with Nemesis. Throw them together and you get me crying over my keyboard at midnight, begging my muse to let me write the damn scene. And after weeks of struggle, here it is!

My sincerest thanks to:

**Flameshield**- Prime is a special character like that, always the deep well of calm. =) I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, calm as it was. It's going to be pretty calm for the next couple of chapters as things settle down and the story gets into its own pace, so I hope you're prepared for it. ^_^;

**Phoebe Turner**- Thanks so much! =)

**Juzu**- Thanks so much~ I have to admit, the Twins are two of my favourite characters, I adore writing for them and I'm glad you like my portrayal of them. =) You'll be able to find out how Elita's talk with Bumblebee goes in this chapter. ^_^

**KyuubiSango**- I have to admit, I never thought of the mark as a zombie bite, but that's actually a really neat idea! Smart cookie, you are! =D I'm glad you see Elita as a strong individual- that's totally what i was going for! There's not many in the universe who could go through what she did and walk out of it alive. =(

**Bluebird Soaring**- You liked Virus's special brand of Welcome Home, did you? I suppose someone has to, since I don't think Sunstreaker appreciated it very much. XD But it's true that he and Sideswipe are mellowing out; it's taken a lot of therapy, but they're getting there. =) As for poor Bumblebee... his world is upside down right now. =( You're exactly right in thinking Elita One is the perfect one to speak with him. =)

**Eerie Iri**- Thanks so much! =D

**Dramastar-Mel**- lol~ Yeah, Nemesis Prime's name is canon, though what he is and how he is in this story are all a product of WE. =P You're welcome to research him, though. He's a pretty epic character. XD

**Balrog Roike**- There are so many layers involved with Elita One and Bumblebee... When they're together, they're so troublesome to write. Poor Bumblebee right now is in a very bad place. And Elita, she really has to run the gauntlet before being able to speak with him. One can only hope she does him some good. =)

**Chloo**- Haha, yeah, that's the thing about starting a story off with a bang- there's the inevitable calm that comes afterwards. I hope you can stand a couple of calm chapters for the future while the story gets rolling. ^_^; I'm thrilled to see that you're liking all the little things I'm throwing into the story, though. Miles and his t-shirt are, by far, my faves. XD There will be so much more of him and his crazy antics in the future. As for Elita... It's hard to come away from something like she did and not be changed, and especially to come away and not have others treat you differently. Nevertheless, she is still a strong character. =)

**Litahatchee**- LITA! Oh my god, woman, it's been forever and a half since I've heard from you! And now you show up all awesome and stuff, reviewing all the chapters and being epic like that. I have so much love for you right now! Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the love and encouragement and awesomeness you put into those reviews! You made my life! =D I know you have a special soft spot for Elita, so I did my best writing this chapter with you in mind. She's got so many layers, even an onion would be jealous. Let's hope she can live up to your high expectations. =)

**FunkyFish1991**- Oh Fish, what am I to do with you? Lick you up or eat you? Maybe a combination of both? You're just so delicious when you review! XD I wish there was more time and room for me to respond to everything that has been said. It all deserves love! =( The solarium itself is a massive beast to a human looking at it. That's part of the reason it's so epic (in my head 8D) ! The insides are so totally modelled after Pandora in _Avatar_. XD And I just have to say- yes, Elita really does think Prime's flames are dashing. Sh also thinks they're a little silly, but would never say so out loud. =P Also, here's a secret- Virus's roses were actually sculpted by Barricade. He's quite good with his hands. =D Oh, and there is some justification for the red flags around Sunny and Elita. Someday you'll see why. ^_^

**TransformersLover95**- My goodness, I hardly know what to say. Thank you so much for your high praise of my writing~ I'm deeply flattered that you have enjoyed yourself so thoroughly. I do hope that you will continue to enjoy the tales I write as they unravel. I can say with all honesty that I have plenty left in me to write. ^_^

Thank you all so much for reviewing~ I truly do appreciate the time and effort you put into your reviews! They are very much the inspiration that helps keep this story alive. =)

**May We Never Let Go  
To Speak and to Listen  
**

Elita One hesitated uneasily in front of the foreboding entrance of the lift that would take her down into the subterranean part of base. She glanced about from side to side, and then returned her gaze to contemplate the implicit threat being issued by the inanimate object.

There was nothing particularly frightening about the lift. It was far from out of the ordinary; a stable, square design of regular grey metal, reinforced pulleys and hydraulics hidden from sight but nonetheless there. The sight of a lift would not usually inspire such hesitance in a regular Cybertronian. In fact, for most on base, they were eager for this lift, as it would take them down into the part of base where humans rarely ventured. While many had become accustomed to living amongst Earthlings, there were bots who desired respite from organic company when necessary. They took refuge in the isolation their underground hideaway offered. It was no small surprise that many of their regularly used facilities, such as the holo-decks and barracks, were all underground.

Unfortunately, Elita One was both wary of underground and the lift that would take her there.

She was a perfectly rational bot. In many cases, she was more rational than most. It was only when it came to circumstances that forced her to remember her vorns of captivity that irrational fear gripped her. When she saw the lift, she saw a too-small cage. If she stepped in it, the walls would close in around her. She would revert to reliving memories of orns when Psi had grown bored of taunting her by staring; he would move the walls of her cage until they slowly shrank around her, putting her in a box barely big enough to hold her, crushing her into a terrified oblivion. And at the other end of the lift, she would be deposited underground. Yet another nightmare to be fought. One giant cage. Walls of dirt. A sky of red and black swirls of earth. Very dark and enclosing.

Elita could count on her fingers the number of times she had ventured underground. One hand was only necessary. Two fingers, actually.

However, for tonight, she was very willing to swallow her fears and make a grand exception.

Closing her optics, she took several calming drags of warm night air. The cycling air served to clear her mind for a moment. In the silence that encroached, the symphony of night drew into focus. Always was there the buzz of energy in the base. Electricity and kinetic energy abounding through the walls and streets. Bright lights glaring, accompanied by the distant rumbles of engines and the like. There was activity, no matter what time of day or night. On the winds carried organic sounds in from the vast expanse of the desert- insects and coyotes, the wind shushing across loose dirt like spirits telling secrets.

Beyond that, Elita heard what no other she knew of could.

She heard the strange music that soothed her. Extremely elusive to describe, much of the time it was akin to haunting whale songs of Earth. Nightbeat had gifted her with the music. The voices. It had been the last thing he had ever done before Shockwave had tortured him to death. To honour his memory, Elita did her best to accept the gift. It was not always easy.

She found herself privy to vague knowledge of strange things because of them. Not exactly of the future per se, but of... strong possibilities. They helped to point out patterns. Curiously, the 'music'? 'voices'? often times showed uncanny kindness toward her. When they were not whispering incessantly, they were music in the back of her mind.

Like now, so sweet and kind, it was impossible not to feel marginally comforted by them.

Strengthened for the moment, Elita stepped forward confidently into the lift and slid the door shut. Her spark fluttered. A moment of panic hit her. She took her time, in no rush. Therapy had taught her that she needed to take things at her speed. No faster. She was the master of herself and would move at her own pace. She would not be ruled by her fears (more than she already was). She would not let Shockwave, Psi, or even Unicron himself have power over her.

Once her spark stopped trying to beat its way out of her sparkcase, Elita pressed the down button to descend into the dark abyss below. The bottom of the lift came, the doors opened up, and Elita One stepped into another world far different than anything found natural to Earth.

An underground oasis that was both a beauty and a tragedy.

Large panels of lights shone from the high, domed ceiling of dirt. The lights were bright, but not stark as electric lights tended to be; they shone with light similar to that of Earth's sun, imitating the warm glow. While Cybertronians had no need for sunlight in the same capacity as the beings of Earth, they did know what made a hole in the ground look a little more welcoming. The natural lighting even enabled some sparse, struggling little scrubs to grow in the cracks between the metal slabs dominating the scene. Streets were winding black rivers of smooth asphalt dividing squat buildings of all forms.

Wheeljack had taken his duty as one of the designers of the underground city to spark, investing much of his eccentric creativeness into the task. Most of the buildings were Cybertronian in design, though they came in a variety of styles ranging from every territory that had once existed on Cybertron. Straight lines from Simfur met the gilded filigree of Crystal City; the wild neon lights of Tyger Pax meeting the jubilant domed creations of Centaurie Tetrax. The city itself might not have expanded its borders very far over the years, but care had been taken to make what they had a very livable place.

It was so beautiful, yet so very _empty._

With only a single glance through the silent streets, staring into the dark expanses of empty windows, it became only more pronounced how endangered their species truly was. A sense of loneliness hung in the air. There was always a feeling of mourning creeping about. They were nearly extinct. Their best estimates rose to only two thousand of their kind left, and that included all factions. Earth-bound Cybertronians only numbered a few dozen, maybe a little more than a hundred. Of the Nevadan base, there were but a few dozen of them.

So empty. So alone.

There was hope that perhaps some orn, the city would teem with life. Until that time, the streets would remain silent.

Elita cast her gaze about nervously, flashes of hot and cold washing through her. Even though the walls were hundreds of metres away, they seemed to close in. The ceiling felt like it was slowly inching down on her. The ground beneath her feet did not feel so firm.

She took a few cautionary steps, relieved to find that the ground did not open up and swallow her. It was a legitimate fear, seeing as the Fallen had done that a time or two to her. Coming back from a session under Shockwave's agonizing experimentation, the floor would randomly gape open, leaving her to drop into a void and be left floating in the frigid darkness for... joors? Orns? Time hadn't meant much.

"Oh!" Elita suddenly perked up as the tune in her head picked up once more, its melodies changing ever so slightly. Still lovely and haunting, but now slightly different. A slower version of Flight of the Bumblebee. She almost chuckled at such kind encouragement. "Thank you," she murmured, smiling to the empty air. There was no indication that anyone heard, not that Elita ever really expected a real rely.

With a little strength restored, she went forward into the labyrinth, taking the quickest route possible to the barracks. The streets were as empty as they were unfamiliar. Elita relied on downloaded schematics to get through the maze, and relied on her own self-confidence in order to stay rational as she moved. If she passed a building that creaked too loud, she would jump. If the packed-dirt ceiling above groaned and shed crumbs of dirt, she would cringe and duck away. Embarrassment would then come. Shame. And then a grim determination to overcome it.

If she took everything at her own pace, she'd be okay. Deep, cycling drags of air. Reassurances that the walls were not closing in on her. No one was going to hurt her.

Bumblebee would be to his room already, unless he had gone to the wash racks. Either way, Elita would be able to find Bumblebee; if she couldn't find him on foot, then a simple scan would give his location away. The urge to speak with him was too strong to ignore or turn away from the task.

The courtyard of the barracks was a small reward to her battered nerves. Lights were plentiful here, almost bright enough to disguise the fact that they were underground. The building itself was a U-shaped, and along itself lower half boasted colourful graffiti from several Autobots looking to bring a splash of colour to the place. Tucked in the open space of the outstretched wings of the barracks were various activities with which a bored Cybertronian could distract him or herself with. A small race track, equipment for a turbo-fox hunt complete with two hovering turbo-fox drones, set alongside groups of benches for the weary to sit, rest, and perhaps hangout with fellow bots.

Not all of the benches were empty. Nearest the entrance of the barracks was a small, colourful grouping of Autobots. The largest was a white mech with green accents, his crystal fins flashing as he spoke- Wheeljack, in all his eccentric glory. He sat on one of the benches while a tall, dusky-blue femme paced in front of him, obviously engrossed in the conversation, though agitation was beginning to creep into the lines of her taut frame. Elita smiled, always livened to see Chromia handling her elevated position as Femme Commander with her usual poise and grace- and by "poise" and "grace" she really meant "attitude" and "violence". Nearly obscured by Wheeljack's leg was a sliver of red moving animatedly as he talked; none other than the incorrigible microbot Blaster. Rounding out the group was Arcee, still in the Decepticon frame she'd been forced into several years before in a bid to save her life. She had kept the black paint in addition to fuchsia accents to make herself feel more at home in the frame.

At her approach, all heads shot up and turned her way.

Chromia's faceplate was the first to morph from surprise to an expression of open warmth and welcome. "Hey there, stranger!" she called, jogging the short distance to Elita's side. They embraced, allowing Elita to absorb some of Chromia's sturdy strength while Chromia felt the trembling that coursed through Elita's frame. Pulling away, the dusky-blue femme ducked to rub her falcon-esque faceplate to Elita's. "What brings you underground? Looking for a change of scenery?"

"Not entirely a change of scenery- it's rather unnerving to be down here," Elita admitted, shaking her head. "However, I'm here to see Bumblebee. Have you seen him recently?"

Chromia arched an optic ridge. "You're in luck, Bumblebee just passed through. He didn't look too well, though." The femme gave a hearty sniff. "The attitude he was sporting when we saw him, I could of smacked him for it if he wasn't already hurt. I'd swear he was a smaller, yellow version of Ironhide."

Elita offered a cryptic half-smile. "From what I've heard, Bumblebee has been through a lot recently."

"Hence you coming all the way down here to talk to him?" Chromia wondered. Elita nodded. "Why not Optimus?"

To this, Elita paused. What her friend was truly asking was why was she, specifically, coming to see Bumblebee when they were practically strangers to each other now. Well, _half_-strangers. Bumblebee could remember her just fine, it was Elita One who possessed no memory of the scout prior to her release from captivity. Like all of the Autobots, Chromia was well aware that Elita had been forced to delete all of her memories of the scout. For most, the reasoning behind the deletion was intentionally vague so as to better protect Bumblebee's true origins. Chromia, along with the other present commanders, were among the very few informed of the unusual situation. What was Elita's interest in the scout?

"Well?" the dusky-blue femme prompted.

Sometimes, Chromia could be a refreshing mix of subtle and disconcertingly blunt... and other times, it was not so refreshing.

"Optimus is busy," Elita smoothly replied, essentially lying. Optimus had nothing to do at current, if her guess was right and Virus had left him pointblank in favour of administering to Sunstreaker. In the span of a brief second, she brushed against the wonderful bond she held with her sparkmate and was granted an embrace of eager love and adoration- with an undercurrent of irritation. Immediately, Elita knew Optimus had found something to do, and it gave her no small humour to know it. "He is with Simmons at the moment."

Chromia made a face. "Poor Prime. I'd rather shoot myself in the foot."

"I find Simmons pleasant and engaging," Elita laughed. "I have no idea why everyone is so antagonistic toward him." In fact, since the moment Reginald Simmons had bowed to her that bleak but glorious day she had been freed, Elita had liked the little human. He could always be counted on to be polite, amiable, and even sweet to her. He also didn't tend to smother her with concerns over everything. He treated her like a perfectly capable autonomous individual.

Chromia rolled her optics, opting to change the subject. "Do you have time to say hi to the others?"

A moment of hesitation passed before the rose-painted femme gave a slow, graceful inclination of her head. "Of course... I have a small bit of time." No, not really. She didn't want to be down here any longer than she had to, but it would have been terribly rude to pass them by without exchanging a few words.

Twining their arms together, Chromia ushered Elita to the small group eagerly awaiting their arrival. Out of habit, the three Autobots rose and bowed for her. She was not the femme commander any longer, nor did she request any difference be given for her status as Prime's sparkmate, yet the Autobots preformed their bows as their due to her. She might not feel as if she deserved their bowing anymore, but they certainly did.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Elita asked carefully.

"Not at all. You're welcome to join us any time," Wheeljack said warmly, scooting over to invite her to sit next to him. Not wishing to feel so confined by sitting close to his looming frame, Elita declined with a small shake of her head. The engineer accepted it kindly, shrugging. "We were just discussing some unusual things happening lately."

"Unusual? Have you heard of what happened at Merowe all ready?" The Autobots were gossip mongers, but not even she could have guessed how quickly news travelled...

"Oh, no, not that," Wheeljack replied, blinking. "Knew something must have gone down at Merowe with all the news coverage on the damages, but I didn't think anything of it. Seemed like the usual mess, right? Might have been a bit worried for Sam, but you know how it is..."

"What happened at Merowe?" Arcee prompted, setting aside the long-range rifle she was cleaning.

Elita shook her head. "It's not for me to say. I'm sure you will all find out in due time, but at the moment my main concern is speaking with Bumblebee." She cast Wheeljack a pensive look. "You mentioned unusual happenings on your end, though?"

Blaster stood up on the bench to catch Elita's attention. "Just some strange things I've been hearing through the space bridge," he admitted. The space bridges, still in their fledgling stages, were their only means of quick and efficient travel and communication to the rest of their faction still out in the far reaches of space. "Couple of patrol ships out on the other side came through with a bit of gossip they thought I'd like to hear- said something about the 'Con Seekers acting funny over there."

Chromia snorted derisively.

Blaster cracked a wry grin. "Yeah, funnier than usual. They've been low on our radars for a while... almost forgot about them being out there, you know? Now they're showing up again; weird thing is, they're not targeting Autobots or even Neutrals. From the sounds of things, I hear they've been targeting other Decepticon groups."

"Destroying them?" Elita asked worriedly.

"That part wasn't clear," Blaster sighed. "Some say destroying, some say conquering. Don't know what's right. All I can say is that I don't like it. Seekers are dangerous- they're hard to kill and crazy as slag. If they're killing their own faction, I don't want to know their reasons behind it. If their conquering and amassing an army, it couldn't mean anything good."

"Couldn't Ultra Magnus send a scout out to see what could be the cause of it all?" Elita wondered.

Blaster shook his head. "Our numbers are too thin everywhere to risk a scout going out that far to find out what's really going on."

Chromia walked around to stand by Arcee's shoulder, rapping her ex-apprentice on the head with her knuckles. "All we can do is be prepared if they decide to come out our way. Ultra Magnus is sparing a few more cruisers to guard their end of the space bridge, but that's all he can do. We're first line of defence for Earth if anything outside comes looking for a fight."

"Even if Earth doesn't appreciate it," Arcee muttered staunchly.

Wheeljack shifted anxiously. "Worst comes to worst, I'll blow the space bridges up to prevent the Seekers from coming through." The space bridges were his pride and joy. With Wheeljack always sitting on a tenuous fence between stable and not, to lose his bridges would be too much.

Elita placed a hand consolingly on the engineer's arm. "I hope it does not come to that."

The engineer's fins flashed dimly. "I hope so, too."

Taking back her hand, Elita cast her gaze to the solemn face of the barracks. Unlike the barracks back on Cybertron, these ones had windows... not that they offered much of a view. As she stared, a light flicked on in one of the upper rooms just as two lights flicked off in the lower rooms. She shuddered at the sight of the building. She claustrophobia wasn't limited to just being underground. Being in buildings was unnerving. To walk in a building that was housed underground... She was walking the gauntlet today.

Noting her distraction, Chromia jerked her head toward the barrack. "You want me to call him out for you?"

"No, I'll go in." She smiled a sad half-smile, noting how poor her voice sounded. She tried to steady her words when she next spoke. "If you all will excuse me?"

"Don't let us keep you," Wheeljack said, waving her on.

"Call if you need one of us," Chromia intoned, watching her with the concerned optics of a caring friend.

Elita's smile faltered. "Of course." She did her best not to let her mortification show. She had once been so _proud_, so _powerful; _not just the Prime's sparkmate, but a force to be reckoned with in her own right. She wished she was that way again. Now she was only a shade of her former self, unable to venture out on the simplest of tasks without everyone worrying, wanting to take her hand and shield her from the world. There was no shame in knowing when you needed help, yet when everyone else knew it, smothered her with it, there was no end to the humiliation.

Without letting her company know of her inner turmoil, Elita offered them one last sad smile before walking to the discreet entrance of her destination. It took her yet another moment of fortifying herself before she could enter. The walls were closer in here, the ceiling lower, the lights dimmer. Something scurried by in a shadow, making her rear back into the nearest wall.

Just a rat. Only a rat. _Not_ the Fallen... Although he did have some very rat-like qualities, the fragger.

Up three floors and down a long hallway that tilted slightly to the left, Elita came to a door labelled BUMBLEBEE in bright yellow paint. The designation was written in both Cybertronian glyphs and English characters, accompanied by some personalized identifiers- tacked on photographs and a few scribbled messages on a medium-sized whiteboard hanging next to the door. Not the spartan, militarized decor of a hardened warrior.

Most doors followed suit, decorated to match the taste of the occupant. Evidence that the Autobots were not as they used to be. They weren't empty war machines anymore. They were remembering... or learning again... what it was like to _live_. Not just surviving, fighting and killing orn in and orn out, but _real_ living- the kind that came with silly knickknacks, photographs to be kept for memories, and personalized doors that made a room into a home.

A quick scan revealed that Bumblebee was in, his spark shining on sensors.

Elita knocked softly. "Bumblebee, may I come in?"

Silence for a long moment, and then Bumblebee's confused voice. "Elita One?"

"Yes, it's me." She looked up and down the hall- too small, too dark. No sky. No fresh air. She shivered. "May I come in?"

There came muted shuffling that stopped abruptly before they reached the door. "What are you doing down here?" the scout suddenly asked, sounding suspicious. It was better than pity, Elita supposed.

"I'm here to see you. I wish to speak with you."

"Why?" Still so suspicious.

Elita canted her head. "Because... I thought you might need someone to talk to. I heard what happened in Sudan."

The door hissed open, revealing Bumblebee's wretched form. He was taller than her by two feet, his shoulders perhaps twice as wide. Elita might not have had any memories of the scout from when he was a sparkling or youngling or even just a fledgling adult, but even in what she did know of him, he never ceased to look so young. It was in the way he carried himself, in how expressive his faceplate was. A sad mix of youth and hardened war veteran. In that moment, he looked more war veteran that usual- cracked, dented, and gouged, armour still dirty.

Elita's optics slowly rose to the scout's strained stare, and then kept rising above it. A black stain marred his forehead, dark as tar. Its presence was magnetic, her attention riveted by some preternatural force. In her head, the voices hit a crescendo of wailing. _Mark of the Beast! _she heard before they fell disturbingly quiet. Her spark stuttered. She almost backed down a step if her frame hadn't suddenly turned numb.

Bumblebee looked away, made self-conscious by her attention. He raised a hand and rubbed the mark. "It won't come off," he sighed.

"I see that."

Bumblebee didn't seem able to meet her optics. He stepped aside, leaving the doorway open for her. "You said you wanted to come in?"

"Yes, thank you." Rooms were generally built to accommodate mech-sized bots like Ironhide and Optimus, meaning there was more than enough room for a smallish minibot like Bumblebee, and definitely room to spare for a femme like Elita. Nevertheless, it was still small enough for a shiver to crawl down Elita's spinal column. Giving herself a good mental shake, Elita breezed into Bumblebee's quarters and sat on the very edge of his berth. With a graceful gesture, she invited the scout to sit with her instead of standing by the door awkwardly. He came to her cautiously, sitting as far away as possible.

He watched her with curiosity and a bit of wariness, waiting for her to break the ice.

"Sunstreaker reported quite a battle took place in Sudan. Many leeches and kremzeeks had come out for the energy," Elita said.

"Yes, many," Bumblebee agreed quietly.

"It was a hard battle, then?"

Bumblebee looked away. "I didn't see the whole battle, but I saw when they first started coming out of the Nile. There was a whole horde of them."

"You were elsewhere?" Elita prompted, carefully segueing into her intended topic of discussion. "Sunstreaker mentioned the appearance of a new mech- someone called Nemesis. You were targeted by this mech, weren't you?"

Bumblebee's shudder was both seen and felt. He reluctantly offered a quiet, "Yes."

"Something happened while you were fighting him?" Elita asked, already knowing the answer.

The scout shrunk away, his voice hoarse as he answered, "Yes."

Elita leaned close, her spark aching for the poor bot. She stroked his armour, trying to sooth the shaking tension that vibrated through him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No!"

His sudden outburst startled Elita back. She just about jumped out of her own frame. Immediate regret came to Bumblebee's faceplate when he realized what he had done. He sagged. His sad, sad optics were wide and miserable as they gazed upon Elita's faceplate.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that," he murmured.

Regathering her wits, Elita shook her head. "It's all right. You're upset right now. I shouldn't have come so soon."

"No, it's not that... I'm glad you're here." Bumblebee cycled a shuddering drag of air. "I'm still trying to process it all, Elita. So much happened... some of it I don't even want to think about. Some of it scares me."

In his head, the battle replayed again and again. Nemesis whispering all those things to him... things that made him think. Things that frightened him. He saw Sam coming for him, but it wasn't really Sam- something else shone in his eyes. The spark that was Sam was elsewhere, subverted by the power.. He heard the Fallen's hysterical laughter, like nails on a chalkboard, screeching brakes, and screaming animals in a blender.

Elita's spark went out to the scout, seeing him look so lost. "I'm here if you need me." She touched his hand, giving it a squeeze.

Bumblebee made a keening noise, shooting Elita an agonized look. Suddenly, his faceplate hardened and he moved to his feet, going to the door to lock it. Elita stiffened for a moment, distressed by the lock, but fought to calm herself. She was safe here. There was nothing to fear. Whatever Bumblebee wanted to say, he needed the assurance of privacy. And what he wanted to say... Elita was certain she needed to hear.

With careful steps, the scout came back to Elita's side. Instead of sitting away from her, he crept up nervously and took a seat by her side. He wasn't so big that his size made her feel trapped. In fact, at the moment, he felt no bigger than a little sparkling. Once again Elita wished desperately for a memory of the scout, to know what he was like when he was little. Did she comfort him when he was sad? Did he come to her when he needed to talk? Or did he only see her as the femme commander back then? It shouldn't have mattered. Right then, Bumblebee simply looked as if he desperately needed a hug.

"Here, how about you lay down?" Elita offered. She scooted to the head of the berth and crossed her legs, creating a cradle where she invited Bumblebee to lay his head. For a long moment, the minibot looked shocked, awed, and a little uncomfortable, but then he gave in to the invitation. He crawled up and turned onto his back, resting his horned head in Elita's lap. He shuttered his optics and sighed in a deep whoosh of air as if releasing all the tension in his frame.

"How's that?" Elita asked.

"Okay, I guess," Bumblebee muttered, as if nervous to admit his comfort.

With his head so close, Elita could make out the details of the stain on Bumblebee's forehead. The magnetic quality of its presence still nagged at her consciousness. There was a compelling enthralment about its existence, like an outside force capturing her mind and drawing her in. Yet it also repelled her in a deeply instinctual way. Without really thinking of her actions, she reached across to the small nightstand next to the bed and plucked up a worn cloth with frayed edges, rubbing at the stain as if she could clean it away.

Bumblebee peered up at her for a moment before looking away. "You know what I am, right?"

"You're Autobot Scout Bumblebee of the Intelligence & Espionage division," Elita replied evenly, listing his title with ease.

"No, not that..." He sighed again. "You know I'm _different_ from everyone else."

Elita frowned lightly, a light prickling sensation passing through her. "Different as in...?"

"I don't come from the Allspark," the scout muttered darkly.

Ah, _that_ kind of different.

"Yes, I know you don't come from the Allspark," Elita replied quietly. It was the very fact that she had known of his true origins that had forced her to delete all her memories of him in the first place while in captivity. If Shockwave had ever gotten his hands on the knowledge of how Bumblebee came to be... The repercussions didn't even stand to be thought about. The consequences would have been horrific. "Where you're from, dearspark- that just makes you special. You're a very special spark."

His fists clenched suddenly, tension once again turning his frame taut. "That's what he called me, too. He said I was _special_- like him."

"Nemesis?"

"_Yes."_ He cycled air again. "I don't know how, but he _knew_ what I was. Where I'm from." His voice rasped as he spoke. "He said he was from the same place."

Elita's fingers stilled over the stain mark she was administering to. Coldness swept through her. "You mean...?"

"He said he wasn't from the Allspark, like me." Bumblebee's optics shuttered. "He said I was his brother."

"You mustn't listen to things like that, brightspark." Numb as her fingers were, they returned to the stain- rubbing it, trying to make it disappear. "He must have been lying. Sunstreaker mentioned that the Fallen was there... I know how that creature works. He likes to torment; he will say and do things just to make you hurt because he likes it. If Nemesis is working with the Fallen, then he was probably using the same tactic. You were told you things that would strike you at the deepest and hurt you the most."

Bumblebee shook his head. "But how did he _know_? Only a few bots know the truth, and none of you would tell, would you?"

"Never, Bumblebee. We would never tell," Elita murmured, her spark breaking. The moment of doubt in the scout's voice struck her to the core. "Everyone would sooner wipe their memory banks than give you away. If I knew it was to protect you, I would let go of all my memories again, as well." The very thought chilled her, sickened her, yet she would do it. Every precious memory she had managed to make over the last seven years of her freedom, she would let go of if it was to keep another safe.

Instead of being eased by the words, Bumblebee pulled away from Elita's lap. "I hate that I have to be so _disposal_."

"You're not disposable, dearspark."

His faceplate morphed into something bitter. "Then what do you call it when everyone has to be prepared to forget about me at any given moment?" he asked, pushing to his feet. Giving her his back.

"What we do is to protect not only you, but everyone. Sacrifice is never easy." Elita stared down at her hands, clenching her fingers into fists. "No one wants to forget about you. I would give anything to have my memories of you back, but we all must do as we must to protect what is precious."

Bumblebee looked torn. "If that's true, how did he know? No one should know what I am."

Elita looked away her spark sinking. "The Fallen...he can get inside us. You know that- we can't stop him if he tries. He might have possessed one of us without our knowing and taken the knowledge before he could be stopped."

"But the things Nemesis was saying, the things he was telling me..." He took to pacing a short, agitated circuit around the room. He scrubbed at his faceplate, irritation evident in every line. "He said we were from the same empty places."

_Empty places_. Elita knew those well. She'd lived an eternity in the dark within the Fallen. Sitting straight and turning to face the scout, she fixed him with a serious stare. "Tell me exactly what Nemesis told you," she said, very close to an order.

Bumblebee shuddered, but acquiesced. Shame and confusion marred his handsome faceplate. "He said that my existence inspired his creation. Both of our sparks come from the same empty places, are made from nothingness." His fists clenched. "The attack on Merowe, it was just to meet me. All he had wanted to do was see me, talk to me. He said I was just like him, untainted by the Allspark; I was his brother."

"He was lying," Elita intoned.

A frustrated noise ripped from the scout. "You don't know that! No one knows anything about whatever I am, where I'm from." Once again his hand scrubbed over his faceplate, gripping his forehead a touch too long. When his hand dropped, the stain appeared darker then before. "Maybe he was telling the truth! Some of it, maybe all of it was really true-!"

"If Nemesis works with the Fallen and Unicron, then anything out of his mouthplates must be a lie," Elita insisted.

"The way he was talking, though... it sounded like he really knew." The anger drained out of the scout as he looked upon Elita beseechingly. "All my life, I've wondered who I was, who my creators were. I always knew I was different from everyone. No one had to say anything, I just felt it inside me. I tried not to make a big deal about it, no one else seemed to notice, but... but I _knew_ there was something off. There had always been something wrong about how Optimus found me, when he found me. There were no Youth Sectors anymore at that time. The Allspark had already been sequestered by the time I came to Iacon. It's like I appeared out of nowhere..." Most sparklings had vague memories of their first orns of life. He had none. It was all blank. Nothingness.

Elita watched her precious little Bumblebee sink to his knees before her. "When Optimus told me where I really came from, it was the answer to so many questions! The reason I don't have creators or remember a Youth Sector is because there never was any- I really did come out of nowhere. I come from Optimus's spark. But the more I think about it, the more it feels wrong. _I _feel wrong. I don't feel like I come from Optimus. I feel... so _confused_." His head bowed to her lap, his shaking arms coming around her. He begged silently for comfort. "Worse yet, there was no one in the universe like me I could talk to- until Nemesis. There was only a handful of bots who really knew what I was. I was so alone, Elita. I thought I would be happy finally knowing something about myself, but all I ended up feeling was wrong and alone and empty."

His voice cracked. The effort it was taking him to spill his innermost secrets was turning him inside out. He continued only because he had to now. The floodgates were open and there was no holding back. Above it all, he felt safest with Elita. He knew he could talk to her. She held no guns, no armour, but she was a safe haven where he knew he would be held and comforted in the way he wanted to be. There was also guilt when he was with her, regret that she remembered nothing of him, but even that did not diminish his need to be loved by someone. He pressed his faceplate into her lap and absorbed the feel of her spark- such a beautiful spark, even scared as it was. Impossibly beautiful, as always.

He loved her. Always had. For as long as he could remember. Not romantically, but... just love.

"When Nemesis spoke to me, a part of me felt like I wasn't alone anymore. There was something about him that drew me to him. In the way that he talked, the way that he moved- I knew he was bad, but he made me think about what he was saying," Bumblebee admitted, his voice quiet and muffled. "Even if it was only for a moment, I felt like there was finally someone else I could relate to. He could tell me more about who I am... what I am... I almost wanted to go with him." And finally his shame and confusion overtook him. His frame shook, rattling gently in time to his sobs.

Elita's spark ached for the dearspark. Her arms came around him and held him close. She stroked his broad back. Her fingers caressed down his doorwings. He pressed closer to her, hugging her tighter as he shook, crying silently. She cried a little too, for him. His embrace didn't cage her or frighten her. She simply held him tighter in return.

When he finally cried himself out and managed to lift his head, Elita took his faceplate into her hands and bowed her forehead to his. Blackened metal to rose plating. Cold fire touched her helm, intensifying her fears. She ignored it. Resisted it. Instead, she pulled desperately on every good feeling and memory she had, holding them close.

"Listen to me, Bumblebee," she whispered, sure that she had his full attention. "It doesn't matter where you come from, whether the Allspark or somewhere else. Do you think we would care if you came from the same "empty places" Nemesis claims to be?"

Bumblebee shuddered. "No..."

"Of course not," Elita confirmed. "If we did care, do you think bots like Jazz or the Twins would have been given the chances that they've had? They were dangerous at one time, and now they're the most amazing Autobots anyone could ever meet." Her thumbs brushed the sides of his faceplate. "Your origin does not automatically dictate who you are. Everything you've said, everything you've done, all the friends you've made- that all contributes to who you are as a whole." She rubbed her forehead to his. In her chest, her spark swelled. "No matter what Nemesis tries to tell you, we will always love you. Me, Optimus, all of the Autobots, even your human friends; we're your family no matter what. Please, don't ever forget that."

A look of awe crossed Bumblebee's features. His optics shuttered and he leaned into her, soaking her up. "I won't forget," he promised reverently.

"Good."

Slowly, Elita let him slip away. He came to his feet unsteadily, looking so awkward with himself. He stared at his feet, scuffing the floor. His wings, crooked from damages, wiggled a little. He was the dearest little thing she had ever seen. His fingertips rose to his forehead, brushing the crests. Elita's optic ridges arched in surprise, finding the mark faded. For whatever reason, it had turned to nothing but a thin shadow, barely noticeable. Bumblebee seemed to be able to feel the difference. He blinked, and then smiled unsteadily.

"I feel much better now, thank you," he murmured.

"You're very welcome," Elita said, returning his smile with one of her own. "If you ever need anyone to talk to, I'll always be here to listen. You shouldn't ever have to feel alone."

He nodded, making a twittering noise. His hand was offered to her, optics shining with a new light. "If you want, I can take you topside."

Elita's smile widened sincerely as she placed her hand in his. The Bumblebee she so adored was back. "I would like that very much."


	6. To Contemplate

**KyuubiSango**- Aww, that's awfully poetic of you to say of the chapter. Thanks so much! =) I have heard of the "left behind" series, but I've never read/watched/cared about it before. "Mark of the Beast" came from a different reference. =P

**Eerie Iri**- That's so wonderful to hear that enjoy my versions of Elita and Bumblebee! They're two very interesting characters to write for. ^_^ I'm glad that i could get them right by your standards. :)

**Flameshield**- Doesn't everyone wish they had music playing in their head (and still not be crazy)? =P Oh well, we can't all be awesome like Elita. We'll just have to make do with dinky MP3 players and iPods. XD I'm glad that you enjoyed Elita as she was in the chapter; she's an interesting character to write for. =)

**TransformersLover95**- Oh, my dear, I am over the moon to hear that you are hooked to the story! =D I hope you're prepared for much love and heart-string pulling in the future, because that's exactly what's in store for you! =P

**Phoebe Turner**- Thanks so much~! =)

**Bluebird Soaring**- Oh wow, I hadn't thought that my writing of Elita overcoming her own personal fears would speak so deeply to someone with the same phobia. I'm awed and humbled that you found her own personal struggle compelling and victorious. Elita is indeed a very special bot- she's got a gift that goes beyond just hearing voices in her head. Let's just hope Bumblebee listened hard and keeps the promise he made to her...

**Dramastar-Mel**- You're too right about that; Elita _is_ a strong character! =D She definitely needs a moment to shine, doesn't she? =)

**Lecidre**- lol~ I think you nailed the scene down when you said it was like a patient speaking with a shrink; when I first started thinking of the chapter, that's what I had in mind between Elita and Bumblebee, although it grew into something a little more. =P I'm really, really happy that you liked Elita's portrayal in this chapter. It was hard trying to balance her between her fears and her strengths. Reading your review made my day a thousand times better. =)

**Sebastian Nyte**- I...[reluctantly] forgive you. *sigh* People make mistakes and we're all human... crap like that. Anyone could have done it. Anyways, all three of your reviews were pretty awesome, even if you submitted one with my own account. You're never using my computer again, but you're more than welcome to keep reading and reviewing the story. =P

**Jason M. Lee**- I had not thought of such a connection! Thank you for the insight~ It certainly gives new light to the writing. =)

**Balrog Roike**- Elita's a smart femme- she knows it's not healthy to dwell in the dark places too long, whether that be an actual dark place or one in the mind. Perhaps Bumblebee will learn from her? You're totally right about the Autobots hindering their own efforts to move on in a healthy way! I had not realized that when I first read the chapter, but they do seem to be miring themselves in the past by surrounding themselves with an empty city. =( Maybe Elita can help them move on as well? She appeared to be one of the few who knows what she's doing. =P

**FunkyFish1991**- Me? Review myself? I'd never do a thing like that! It's unconscionable! It's deceptive! It's scummy! ...and it does sound like something I'd do, doesn't it? XD I'll have to ponder on it for future reference... *evil laughter* And yes, Barricade made Virus's roses. Turns out, he's pretty good at making folksy crafts, which he sells on occasion. Everyone wants to own art made by an alien, which puts him and Sunny in good demand. =P The voices Elita hears that you have such trouble pinning down... you can call them Order; they're merely the sound of the movement of the universe as gears turn, game pieces move, and time slides forward. Nothing spectacular or anything. =) And no, I haven't said from who Psi scalped the info on BB, but you'll find out soon enough. =P

Special shout out to **Litahatchee** for giving this chapter a read-through! And a second shout out to **FunkFish1991**, the unicorn to my dragon, for being so awesome as she is. And for landing the 100th review of this story! Yay! 8D (Plus, I know your b-day is coming up fast, but school has sort of eaten up all my time, so your birthday gifts are going to be coming in slowly... This chapter is like Part 1. Every chapter I post for the next year will be Parts 2 through to Oh My God, I'm Sorry! XD )

****No puppies were harmed in the making of this chapter.**

**May We Never Let Go  
To Contemplate**

The laughter Psi had once enjoyed so shortly before on Earth was now gone. He longed for the hysterical laughter, but found there was none to indulge upon, as if it had been sucked out of him, leaving him a brittle shell of malignant black matter. In place of his beloved hysteria came a solemn pensiveness that was as welcome to Psi as some Cybertronians welcomed rust. It was a side of himself rarely seen, and if he could help it, he rarely indulged. Linear thinking was not his forte. It was the opposite of his forte. His forte happened to be thoughts that ran backwards, upside down, inside out, and- though no one else knew this but himself- in the shade of mauve.

To pander to ordered thoughts of one particular subject for an extended amount of time actually caused his mind and body to ache. If he did it long enough, he could actually feel the edges of his consciousness begin to degrade. It was not in his nature to be pinned down. Yet sometimes the circumstances demanded things of him that he was forced to give. Current circumstances happened to be demanding a pit of a whole lot.

It was only a small consolation that to think was but a small agony compared to some of the things that had been demanded of him throughout his too-long existence. And if he were not to think about what he had just recently discovered, there was no doubt in his mind that Unicron would take the issue up with him violently.

Psi turned his attention to the nearby mudball-planet and contemplated its existence.

Such a time had passed since he had last been on Earth that he had been able to watch the planet rotate exactly fourteen times. From his perch in the coldness of space, swathed in anti-space where no one could see or touch him, he had watched life be lived as if death was not a single breath away.

Humans. So many humans. Over 7 billion of them infesting the planet, their own personal chaotic natures compounding into one giant maelstrom of insanity as they lived and breathed, interacted and destroyed. Psi had sat back and watched from a far as the nature of humanity unfolded for him. Lies were told. Men, women, and children were beaten, raped, and mutilated. He watched them die, over and over and over again. There was no end to the creativity of humanity when it came to causing painful deaths. And he watched as billions of them lived as if none of that other stuff was happening around them.

For once, their ignorance did not delight him. Instead, it compelled him to think more. His love for the disgusting cesspool of dirt and puss waned with each moment they made him think and rethink.

Each human was so tiny. Insignificant. Worst of all, they were all so very _mortal_.

From the very moment they were born, they were _dying_.

Their existences were_ nothing_ compared to the vastness of the universe around them. The entirety of their species could rise to its peak and fall into oblivion without ever imparting a mark upon reality to say that they existed at all. For all their monuments, statues, artwork- all the grand accomplishments and gestures of their kind- they were but a mote of dust to be blown away in the slightest breeze. Such nothingness comprised of no ones in a churning sea of empty meaninglessness.

Didn't they at all care that each one of them was already dead and they didn't even know it?

In fourteen rotations of the planet Earth, Psi had watched as humans of every shape, size, and colour laugh, love, make love, and _live _like forever was within their grasp. They did so in an abandon that even the Cybertronians had not known. Even Psi had never, and could never, suffer the delusions lived by humanity- though he suffered plenty of delusions otherwise

How was it that such fragile, insignificant creatures could embrace the day when their mortality stared back at them from every turn? They died so easily, but lived as if they were immortal.

It was difficult for Psi to understand that part of their existence. Living for a fraction of a fraction of time. How could anyone live that way and not go completely insane?

Unlike the humans, he was a long-lived entity. Primus had shaped him from reality itself when reality had still been fresh, weaving threads into his consciousness from the very fabric of the universe until he was tethered. Like his brethren, he was entrenched in the universe. There was no other place for him to go; no higher existence, no lower. The orn he ceased to be, which would be an orn that would never come, he would simply return from whence he came. He was fortunate to be elemental; entropy in the universe was never ending. Endless. He could grasp forever in the palm of his hand. And for all that time, still he found that forever was not enough.

How did one make do with but a blink of time? What could one possibly accomplish in an astrosecond of life? It was too short. Too abrupt. They were all together too fragile; it seemed as if even the wind could steal their sparks if it blew too hard. One moment, they were alive, the next they were dead.

Shouldn't they all be on their knees begging for more time? Shouldn't they be despairing at the worthlessness of the time they were given? Mourning the nothingness their accomplishments amounted to? Shouldn't they rage, revolt, and scream over how easily their lives could be snuffed out? At any giving moment, someone was dying- some painfully, some painlessly. But they were all dying. Their time was constantly running out. So why did so many of them continue to live, love, and laugh?

Was it their ignorance that kept them so happy as they went about their insignificant lives?

Or were humans privy to a secret that Psi was not aware of?

He disliked the fact that he was forced to think of such things now that the game had changed so drastically. One little detail and now _everything_ was different. So much more complicated. He had looked into the eyes of a tiny, fleshy, mortal human and felt the entire universe shift when the Allspark had stared back.

Sam Witwicky was as insignificant as any other human being. In fact, he seemed more so plain than most. Even his face washed away from Psi's memory like sands washed out by the tide. An unnatural kind of vagueness that might have made Psi suspicious if he could focus on the issue for more than a few astroseconds without it disappearing again. It had taken nearly a full day for Psi to recall where he had seen the human before- around the Autobots' base, on TV, at several locations previously attacked. It had taken even longer to find any reference to the Witwicky boy on the internet when two things kept getting in the way- one, he could never remember the human he was supposed to be looking up, and two, Psi was not very proficient in English. He was actually better at Latin- but that was only because so many of the creatures Psi butted heads with on Earth liked to yell at him in Latin.

But this human- this little speck of _nothing_- contained a power within him that could stretch from one end of existence to the other. The Allspark was an object of energy, majesty, and eternity; it would butt heads with the human's mortality and it would _win_. It was too powerful a force, too elemental, too otherworldly for a mere human to handle it. Mortal boundaries would burn before it.

At first, it had been so funny- like one giant cosmic joke. So much great power contained in such an unworthy vessel. Then Psi had had time to think about it. Soon enough, the situation had become not so funny at all. It became so much more dangerous and complicated. Human. Human. Human. The problem was so very _human_. The Allspark was of his world. Long ago, the Allspark had been part of his guardianship. The Cube's energy was necessary now, if Unicron were to have any hope of regaining a proper form. But the vessel, Sam Witwicky, was _human_. Not of his world. Untouchable by Psi.

Not to mention the mortality involved. Should Sam die for any reason, what would become of the energy he contained? It could not be destroyed, obviously, but would it be at all useful if it were to be transformed again? Death was not an option. Nevertheless, the power would have to be drained somehow.

This called for a whole new game plan. It would have to be done in a manner that did not involve Psi touching the little squish-ball directly. Sam also seemed to have a shade of control of the power within him, meaning that if a good old fashioned kidnapping and power-rape happened, he could just call up on his little MacGuffin power reservoir and be a disgusting little pain in their afts. Or, worse, Sam could explode and kill them all. Generally, that wouldn't be a good thing in Psi's opinion. Influencing the human might work, a suggestion here and there, a tiny little whisper in his sleep, but there was only so much that could be arranged that way...

How entirely frustrating when things weren't going his way!

As things were, the Guardian of Entropy was not the only one wrapped up in a thousand thoughts.

Nemesis Prime had stood in the windowed altar room of Psi's ship-body for nearly a fortnight, his faceplate dark as his thoughts consumed him. Of what thoughts could be running through the newly created mech's head, Psi could only guess at. What was there for Nemesis Prime to know? He was so new to the world that he barely even registered as a blip on the radar. Every sight, sound, and feeling was new to him. There could be no vast well of existential knowledge locked away in the dark Prime's mind for him to contemplate.

He certainly acted as if he had secrets to keep. His haunted optics whispered of unfathomable knowledge.

If it wasn't in his head, could it be his spark that made Nemesis Prime seem eons older than he actually was?

That spark of his was more than capable of harbouring all sorts of secrets to whisper to him. That damned spark. It was not from the place that all other sparks came from; Psi knew that particular feeling when the Allspark connected to Elsewhere. Wherever the dark core had pulled Nemesis Prime from, it had been a dark place, far beyond the reaches of the reality Psi was bound to.

Nemesis's mind was young, but his spark old. Ancient and evil.

As if sensing the Fallen's attention, Nemesis turned away from the windows and looked into the vast empty space stretching out behind him. There were only two vague shapes in the gloom; two altars that had not moved since the orn they had been made. A single figure laid upon one of the altars, as still and silent as death.

Nemesis's attention was not for the figure on the altar, but the entity who lived and breathed as the entire room. "Tell me what you are thinking of, Psi."

A long, heavy silence permeated the room before Psi deigned to pull his consciousness together and condense it by Nemesis Prime's side. Like two beacons in the dark, his optics shone unnaturally bright as he grinned poisonously for his company. "I was thinking of how a raven is like a writing desk."

Nemesis Prime blinked slowly, staring down at the unusual form the Fallen had condensed into. "Ravens and writing desks have nothing in common."

Psi's grin grew wider as he savoured the feeling to grin again. His first evil smile in a fortnight- it was like a momentous occasion. And to be able to smile while bothering someone else was simply a bonus! "Perhaps it is the fact that they have nothing in common that is the one thing they have in common?"

"I had not thought of that," Nemesis intoned.

"It's not the actual answer," Psi said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Then what is?" wondered the mech.

"I don't know," laughed the spectre. "I think I like the riddle the best when it has no answer at all. It makes more sense that way."

Nemesis fell silent, knowing better than to say otherwise. He may have been a "young" creature compared to the likes of his company, but he was not lacking in any sort of intelligence or sense of self-preservation. To be bothered by Psi's fickleness or to encourage Chaos's basic nature was only to ask for a torment with no end. Thankfully, they were both creatures capable of long silences when the mood suited them, so both agents of the Unmaker were content to stand for nearly a joor in complete contemplative silence. Eventually, it was Nemesis Prime who chose to speak again.

"You look like that human," he suddenly said.

"What human?" Psi wondered absently. "There are seven billion humans to choose from down there-" he waved a quick gesture to the blue planet below them... and in that moment, a volcano erupted, a hurricane touched down, and a lightning bolt struck a pet shop. Lots of puppies died. "So you might want to be a little more specific."

Nemesis inclined his head. "The one that contains the energy of the Allspark."

"That _is _oddly specific." Curious of the phenomenon, Psi glanced down at his current form. To his surprise, he found that he did indeed resemble a familiar human shape. Indeed, the human who had been the subject of his tense, linear, headache-inducing thoughts. What was that human's name again? He had just been thinking about it... Sam! That's what it was! Sam... Witty? Wilgicky? ...Witwicky! Sam Witwicky: human vessel of the Allspark! Damn, why was it always so difficult to hold on to that one human's name? Nevertheless, Psi cast a look up to his company. "Well, how about that. I do sort of look like him, don't I? An interesting surprise, I suppose..."

Nemesis shifted around to better peer down at the spectre. "You did not intend to appear like him?"

"Not particularly," Psi shrugged, brushing his hands absently down his front as if removing non-existent dust from his form. "However, the human has been on my mind quite a bit lately. This just goes to show how much."

"I take it the subject of your thoughts can affect your manifestations?" Nemesis wondered, a vague tone of interest and curiosity veiling his words.

"My thoughts _are_ my manifestations; my manifestations _are_ my thoughts," Psi replied with a roll of his human-esque eyes. He once again inspected his hands and found that he did not like them at all. The shape, colour, and texture were grossly boring. With a good mental shake, he cleared his mind, which in turn erased his spectral form. It took a moment to think of something new, and then he condensed into the form. Not one of his more traditional forms- although he did tend to favour the classic dark-figure-in-the-flames routine. No, this happened to be a little bit more earth-inspired. Specifically from one of his favourite movies: _Alien_. Those xenomorphs were sexy beasts. He sent a glittering amber stare up to his company. "You see? Mere manifestations of thought, as easily changed as one would change their mind."

"How fortunate for you to be able to shed such presumptions as form and supplement them with pure thought. I can't imagine how freeing that would be," Nemesis murmured, assessing the new form critically. Taller than a human, but smaller then most Cybertronians. It possessed a vague likeness to the spare frames Psi kept on hand for himself, but more organic in nature. Disturbing and nightmarish, instinctually repulsive, yet horrifically intriguing.

"It's the way I've always been, so I don't think of it much. But I'll say this; being what I am beats being what you are any orn," Psi admitted. He outstretched a claw and tapped the dark armour of Nemesis's leg. The resulting infusion of coldness nearly buckled the mech's leg. Psi continued as if he did not notice. "Physical form is too _confining, _too _limiting_. It is evidence of mortality and weakness, which is why I prefer to be without it. To be unfettered is to go where I like, as I please, and no mortal can stop me." To prove his point, he then allowed his hand to pass through Nemesis's leg where he had tapped it previously, passing through with no more substance than a ghost.

Nemesis grunted, gripping the limb as sudden numbing pain shot through him. Pain deeper than just physical, like invisible claws sinking into him, clawing him from the inside out, pulling essential parts of himself away as the torment ended. His faceplate, remarkably, remained schooled through the ordeal. Not a hint of discomfort. "That is a disconcerting feeling."

"You're welcome," Psi purred as if grandly pleased with himself.

It took a moment, but Nemesis finally released his leg, daring to put weight on it. Still numb, but essentially useable. "Your aversion to physical shape is misleading, isn't it? You _have_ physical form, this ship." He gestured to the grand encompassing entity around them. "You are tied to it, are you not?"

"Technicality," Psi said dismissively, flicking a dispassionate hand.

"If you say so," Nemesis replied with a shallow bow of his head. He directed his gaze away from the Fallen before daring to ask, "Will you tell me what you have really been thinking about now? I know it is something deeper than ravens and writing desks."

Psi considered the request for a fraction of an astrosecond. There was a tempting moment when he sorely wished to voice his second favourite riddle- if you took a turtle out of its shell, was it naked or homeless?- but he decided better of it. "I have been thinking of the Allspark."

"And the human who houses its power?"

"Yes. He makes things so much harder for us." Psi, too, turned to the wide windows that stretched from floor to ceiling of the altar room. He watched as the planet turned slowly. He blinked, and a minor earthquake shook California. Again.

"How so?" Nemesis wondered. "The Allspark is the Allspark no matter the form, is it not? Its power clearly remains unchanged and undiluted."

The Fallen contemplated the point carefully, his mood darkening as a new headache set in. Slowly, he replied, "Its power is unchanged, yes, but its form... if it had been anything other than human, I would agree with you. If the Allspark had been transferred to a spoon, a fire hydrant, or a bicycle, we could easily swoop down there and pick it up." He sighed, shook his head. Around them, the ship rumbled quietly. "But it's a human now, and that's where all our problems begin."

Nemesis canted his head. "I do not see the problem, aside from his extraordinary camouflage skills; to avoid detection for so long is nothing short of incredible. However, a single human is physically weak, no match for any of us." He flicked a simple gesture in the air. "It would be simple enough for one of us to go down there and take him while he sleeps, when he can not react to us. If you are worried of the Allspark's fragile nature, we will be careful with him. If possible, we will find a way to drain the energy and place it in a better suited vessel. The human can then be disposed of."

Psi shook his head. "That all depends on if we can get close enough to do so."

Nemesis breathed a quiet laugh. "I doubt he could outrun or overpower us in his sleep."

"No, but _I_ am limited in what I can do now," Psi admitted with barely-disguised disgust. "If we're dealing with a sentient being of another planet rather than an inanimate object, the game we're all playing is completely different."

"Excuse me for sounding repetitive, but again- _how so_? I fail to see the significance a single human life makes," Nemesis pressed.

Psi almost laughed. It was not the human life that was significant, but the fact that it was human at all.

"How shall I put this in simple terms for you?" The Fallen pondered, only a tad condescendingly. "You see, dear Nemesis, because I am what I am, there are rules I have to obey. All things like me are subject to them. Things like me..." for there was no better way to describe creatures that existed as Psi did... "we have planets that belong to us- that's the best way to describe it. They're like our own personal gameboards. All life within our domain is ours to use to our own ends. Beyond that, not so much."

"Earth does not belong to you," Nemesis observed. "Humans are not yours."

"What I wouldn't give for them to be mine, but sorely I have to live without... for the most part," Psi lamented.

"You cannot use your particular brand of... charm on them?" Nemesis wondered cautiously.

"Whispers here and there, but that's fluff compared to what I could do with a Cybertronian," Psi huffed. He could do _a lot_ to a Cybertronian and no one was around to slap his wrist for it. "The consequences for fundamentally effecting a human- possessing them, altering them, even making simple deals- not something I'd want to deal with now. If I want the planet to remain mostly neutral towards me, I am forced to be mostly neutral towards it." It was an oversimplification of the complex interplanetary politics governing the vast array of metaphysical entities present in the universe, but to get any more detailed was to risk making Nemesis Prime's head explode. Literally.

Understanding dawned on Nemesis's faceplate. "You cannot engage directly with the Allspark without severe retaliation."

"Exactly," Psi confirmed quietly. "I'm stronger than most, but I won't take on a whole planet without proper backup." He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. "If you haven't noticed, I don't have that at the moment."

His backup- his dearest master Unicron- was as still and silent as death. He was weak right now. Disturbingly weak. Vulnerable. Splitting realities in order to drudge up a creature like Nemesis Prime had taken the Unmaker to his current limit. Too drained to even go out and eat another planet. He would have to rest, relying on Psi to guard him. And since Psi drew a good portion of his power from the Unmaker, he would not be in top form either until Unicron was fully restored. In no fit state to be taunting a planet who could kick his aft if they ganged up on him.

Nemesis pushed away from the windows and glided to Unicron's side. He drew too close, discovering the gloss of his paint fading, the paint itself chipping. Wisely, he backed away until he was out of range. "He has been like this since he named me."

"It will take a while before he's back in fighting form. It would have been easier to fetch you if we had had the Allspark to act as the bridge, but we had to improvise instead. It took a lot more energy than we anticipated; he should have ate Uranus instead of Pluto. No one would have missed Uranus. Uranus is such a stupid name." Psi, despite lacking physical form for the moment, was wary to approach his master. He circled around in a wide arc, keeping the second altar between himself and his master. "Despite that, our little adventure worked well enough. We got you, didn't we? Kind of worth it in the end, I suppose. You've turned out to be useful so far."

"Thank you for going to all the trouble. Where I came from... I think I remember it. It was dark place," Nemesis intoned, an odd glint in his smouldering optics. "Dark and... not at all like it is here."

"It was," Psi murmured.

The odd glint in Nemesis's optics deepened. "My purpose here, though... I am part of the game you are playing?"

Psi shrugged. "On a chessboard, I'd say you'd be a rook or a bishop."

"I am still a player, though."

"No, you're playing piece," the Fallen corrected. "_I_ am a player. I use you to my own ends to get what I want."

A brief frown passed over Nemesis's faceplate, but it was gone as quickly as if it had never been there. "The other players in this game, they bound by the same rules you are, are they not? They can do nothing if I approach the Allspark, or even humans in general?"

Amber light flashed bright. Psi's mood took a turn for delight. "True, true, you're mortal like a human. You play on the mortal level. No one can stop you if you contacted a human, unless they play their own counterpieces."

Nemesis waved a fluid gesture through the air. "Then I will collect Sam myself and bring him here. You will know what to do with them then. Problem solved."

Psi's mood crumbled. "That won't work. You don't get it; I can't be involved at all or I'm gonna be made someone's bitch. I don't like being someone else's bitch. The Allspark has too many eyes on it for me to try anything remotely funky. Don't even try removing it from Earth." He drummed his claws against the altar, the sound creating a staccato as feverish as he felt. "The only way this could work is if he were to _willingly_ come to us. If he could somehow be made to give us his power of his own free will, no one would be able to call foul."

Nemesis arched an optic ridge. "Have him willingly surrender the power of the Allspark, thus dooming himself, his species, and his entire planet? Not to mention the damnation of countless future planets and the universe at large? Somehow, I find it difficult to imagine him agreeing to that."

"...it does sound a little farfetched when you put it that way," Psi sighed.

Nemesis pondered the matter for a long moment. Psi watched him carefully, practically able to see the gears turning in the mech's mind. Curiouser and curiouser, Nemesis Prime turned out to be. There was good entertainment value in there. And yet, there was also something that wasn't quite right...

"Do you have something in mind?" wondered the Fallen, watching his pet carefully.

"I was thinking of Bumblebee, actually," murmured the dark Prime.

"That adorably fat little insect with the black and yellow stripes?" enquired the spectre.

Nemesis resisted the urge to roll his optics. "No, the little yellow Autobot with the black stripes. _That_ Bumblebee."

"Close enough," Psi shrugged.

Nemesis inclined his head. "In our encounter, he mentioned that Sam was his brother."

Psi blinked. "Who's Sam?"

"The Allspark."

"What about the Allspark?"

"Sam is the Allspark."

"What's a Sam?"

"Sam is a human."

"A human? There's far too many humans- you must be more specific."

Nemesis paused, watching his company warily. It was true that Psi could be a pain in the aft, but there was something disturbingly genuine about the creature's confusion. "...we are talking about the human who contains the energy of the Allspark," he said slowly.

Psi gasped, rearing back. "A human is the Allspark? How long have you known! Why didn't you tell me!" The whole ship creaked, groaned, and rattled with a rage too consuming, too palpable, to be faked.

Nemesis raised his hands in surrender. "You knew, Psi. You found out at the same time as I did."

The rage disappeared as quickly as it had come. "I did? I don't remember..." Psi's spectre flickered out, then returned, flickered out again, and returned again. He paced, and as he paced he pondered furiously to the point where his thoughts burned with the agony of the effort. He smashed his fist upon the nearest altar. "Let me get this straight... Sam is a human. The human is the Allspark."

"Yes," said the dark Prime.

Psi growled, concentrating. "I know I've seen the boy, but I can't remember what he looks like." He turned furious optics on Nemesis. "Why is it so hard to think of him?"

"I don't know," Nemesis replied, but intrigued nonetheless. "Perhaps he is like the ravens and writing desks- with no answer to speak of?"

"Perhaps... but I don't like it. Go on- you were saying something?" Visibly disturbed, Psi gestured for Nemesis to go on.

"As I was saying, Bumblebee mentioned that Sam was his brother," Nemesis intoned.

Psi let the name pass over him, trying to latch on to it, but it slipped away too quickly. Unnaturally quick. He found himself simply asking, "Bumblebee said that? Isn't that strange."

Nemesis nodded, but his shrewd gaze never left Psi. "Strange, yes, but I think we can use that to our advantage. Bumblebee is Cybertronian, one of yours; I can use him to my own ends, and you may use him for yours."

"Yes, this is true," Psi ceded carefully. He could think of Bumblebee with no problem. He could summon the image of the scout with perfect clarity.

"Well, if we play our parts right, then in the end, we may both get what we want. I may have Bumblebee, and you may have the Allspark." Nemesis's red optics glinted once more as a slow grin curved his mouthplates. No mirth. No humour. A gesture of pure malicious intention.

"That sounds marvellous, my pet," Psi purred, but kept a careful optic on the mech. There were too many unknowns happening around the Guardian of Entropy; he didn't trust any of it. To top it off, the smile Nemesis wore... it was enough to make a shiver run down his spine. That is, if Psi _had_ a spine.


	7. To Love

And with this chapter, I do declare that _May We Never Let Go_ earns it's Mature rating. You have been warned. ^_^

**Eerie Iri**- You wish my personal opinion of the xenomorphs? I find them delightfully sexy, my dear. I've always pictured Psi looking a bit like them, so it was kind of fun throwing that allusion in there. XD I don't know if you could handle making Psi your bitch, though- unless you could find a way to make him shut up, he'd drive you utterly insane, and not in a good way. XD

**Phoebe Turner**- Thanks so much~!

**Bluebird Soaring**- Keep your mind on what may come for Sam and Bee in the future, my dear. They're two major playing pieces in this game, and Psi is going to stop at nothing to have the game bend to his rules. Your unerring faith in my abilities to write for the future to come is really inspiring; hopefully I can live up to your expectations. =)

**Dramastar-Mel**- Psi is, indeed, one great big cloud of doom. Too bad there's no weather channel in the world capable of predicting him. . When the storm finally hits... you're going to know it. He's going to show no mercy.

**Haironyourchest**- Hahahaha, it's so true! Psi has a sense of humour you can't help but laugh at... or be frightened of! That's what makes him so terrifying and entertaining at the same time! XD

**Lady Tecuma**- There are many things going on in my head, my friend. One of the most frightening things happens to be the thing that frightens Psi, which is no small monster, indeed. =P

**Balrog Roike**- Of course Psi thinks in the shade of mauve; what colour did you think he thought in? XD Although, I have to admit, the Fallen being compared to a crazed psychopath as famous and infamous as the Joker is probably the most flattering thing ever said about him. XD You pose some very heavy implications around the character of Nemesis Prime; perhaps he is more than he appears, or perhaps he is just stranger than most... Whatever the case, you right about Psi keeping an eye on him. There's no telling what could happen in the future...

Special love for **FunkyFish1991** for reading this weeks ago and giving it a thumbs up! I love you like white on rice! 8D

As a side note, I really do look forward to all of your reviews. I write for them, in fact. My deepest gratitude is toward the handful of readers who take five minutes or so to just let me know they're reading this story and give a little bit of love and encouragement. Most of you being writers yourselves, you know the joy and inspiration that comes from reading a review. Thank you all so much for sticking with the story, taking the time for a few kind words, and keeping this story going~

Read, Review, & Enjoy~

**May We Never Let Go  
To Love**

"Almost done back there?" Sam enquired impatiently, looking over his shoulder to the hovering doctor.

Doctor Felicity Spring cocked an eyebrow, her grey eyes tired but still sparkling. "I'll be done when I'm done, Mr Witwicky."

"Can I at least put my pants back on?" he asked, scratching at the waistband of his black cotton briefs.

"Believe me, my dear, I've seen worse. You're one of my better looking patients," assured the doctor as she focused the majority of her attention on the interfacial ports dotting the line of Sam's spine. Such tiny little dots, no bigger than freckles, yet they cost more than what most humans would see in a lifetime. Like anything in life, they required maintenance to keep them working and keep the human host healthy.

Flattered that he was one of her better looking patients, Sam still made a face. "But-."

"Hush, boy." Without looking up, Dr Spring took hold of Sam's head and turned it straight ahead. "If you stop moving, I'll be able to work faster."

"_But-."_

Dr Spring gave him a good-natured swat on the shoulder to cut him off. "It will not matter how fast or slow I work, Mikaela is fast asleep and will be in the same place she is right now at whatever time you get to her later. I doubt she will be up any earlier than seven."

Sam sagged in disappointment. "I guess you're right."

A small smile curved the good doctor's lips. "If it's any consolation, I'm almost done."

Sam huffed. "You could have just said that in the first place."

"Where would be the fun in that?" Dr Spring laughed. "Just let the scans finish and I'll let you go. As far as I can tell, you're as healthy as ever. I don't think I need to keep you overnight for observation; you've never had complications before, so I doubt you'll start now."

Sam nodded, sitting as straight as physically possible. So eager to be done with the scans, he didn't even hike up his underwear when it crept down his hips again. He was anxious to see his girlfriend again. He wanted to see her even more than he wanted to go to his own quarters to drop off his bags, have a shower, and change his clothes- which was saying a lot. He was tired and felt grubby, but all he really wanted to do was see his girlfriend- hug her, hold her, kiss her... and do other things. Fighting for his life against the forces of the Fallen and his army of nightmares always made him hunger for the things that mattered most to him; Mikaela happened to mean a whole lot to him.

Four hours of sitting with Dr Spring while she made sure he was hale and whole had slowly driven Sam to the point of desperation. He hadn't even been able to call Mikaela to let her know he made it home safely. That part was cruelty incarnate. He was left with only memories and fantasies of her to linger on in the empty hours. It was a torture almost too cruel to put into words.

The back of his neck tingled distractingly, but he didn't dare reach up to ease the itch. Any wrong move would have dislodged the spider-like metal contraption connected to the ports lining his spine. If even one needle was dislodged, the scans would have to start all over again. Several more hours of driving himself insane pining after his girlfriend. Not something he was willing to wait through. Behind his back, a monitor beeped mutedly as it amassed information collected from him. It would report if any of the relays were eroded and needed to be replaced; the scans would reveal if the tiny circuits of the minuscule microchips in his brain were fried; if any of his interfacial ports needed correcting, it would show.

Sitting through things like this used to bother him. A couple years ago, even a tiny thing like a scan would be enough to make him feel less human. Before getting cybernetic implants, it had taken him a long time and plenty of therapy to help him embrace what he was. In receiving the implants, he'd walked a fine line between semi-okay and borderline breakdown into depressive inhumanity. He'd done everything to reaffirm the fact that he was human. Not a freak. Not a god. Not a super powered alien battery. It was a hard road to travel down, and he was still had his ups and downs.

The good news was, he knew he was truly human now. As human as anyone else he knew- only he possessed bonus features. He wasn't always comfortable with it, but he could accept it for the most part. He wasn't less human because he had cybernetic implants or because he could be a living lightning bolt when the mood struck him. He could still give blood, donate organs, and do all those things normal humans could do. So what if he could do things that other humans couldn't?

He was _different_, but that was okay.

A rumbling engine growled in the hallway, announcing the approach of a Cybertronian. Dr Spring automatically looked up, lips pursed. The entire wall facing the outside corridor was comprised of a two-way mirror, the humans inside able to see out while the humans and much larger transformers were unable to see in… though the Cybertronians could cheat by scanning the room. Hound appeared in quick succession, looking much better with all his dents newly popped out. He wasn't back to one hundred percent, but he didn't look like he'd been put through a car compacter either.

"Almost done in there, Sam?" the scout called loudly.

"He'll be done when I say he's done," Dr Spring replied in just as loud a tone, laughing.

"I'm almost done!" Sam yelled.

"Good!" Hound laughed. "Ah'm gonna be your drive home!"

An excited thrill raced through Sam's blood. He was one step closer to seeing Mikaela. "I'm down with that!"

Hound's engine revved briefly. "Just ta let ya know- Bee finally came in ta the med bay a little while ago. He wanted ta come see ya, but Ratchet won't let him go just yet."

"He's okay, though?" Sam asked.

"Looked fine ta meh. A bit quiet, but better than he was before," Hound replied. "Now hurry up in there! Ah wanna get home!"

Fate appeared to be working on their side. Not a moment later, the monitor behind him bleated mutely to announce its task was finished. The tingling in Sam's spine finally faded.

"You're going to feel a little pinch," warned the good doctor as she grasped the two hand grips arcing out the back of the port-reader. With one good tug, she pulled the whole contraption out with a disturbing crack-pop noise.

"_Urgh!"_ Sam cringed, hands shooting up to grip the back of his throbbing neck. He rubbed ruefully, pouting. "You know, for all the medical advancements we have around here, you'd think they'd make a port-reader that didn't feel like a kick to the back of the head."

"There's hardly any way I can make a dozen needles popping out of your spine pleasant, Mr Witwicky," Dr Spring sighed airily, rubbing his back soothingly. She turned over her shoulder to regard Hound's waiting alt mode. "He'll be out in a minute, honey!"

"Sounds good ta meh, Felicity!"

As Sam redressed himself, he appreciated Bumblebee's foresight to redress him everyday while he had been unconscious. His clothes were slept in, but thankfully not stale or sweat-soaked. It was just a simple white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Tugging the hem of his shirt down and his pants up, Sam popped to his feet, tugged his socks on, then slipped into his boots.

"Looks like you're clean," Dr Spring announced.

Sam looked down at himself. "I hope so. I haven't exactly been able to shower in a couple weeks."

"Not that, young man. I meant your scan results look fine," Dr Spring amended with a roll of her eyes. "_These_ look clean. No sign of degradation or erosion anywhere. Perfect health."

"You expected anything less?" he wondered rhetorically. He received a friendly swat to the back of his head, causing him to flinch when the doctor's hand came a little too close to his neck and the tender ports there.

"Don't get cocky, Mr Witwicky," the good doctor warned. "One of these days, you're going to take things too far and there will be no coming back from it. I don't want to be the one to treat what's left when that happens."

Sobering for a moment, Sam offered the older woman a kind smile, and then wrapped his arms around her for a hug. Her age was beginning to show more than it should have, her once vibrant red hair paling until it was more grey then red; her face more lined every day. Dr Spring had broken one of the cardinal rules of doctors with her work on base; she cared for her patients, loved them each deeply. The loss of any of her patients would have been like losing a sibling or child. Sam often ended up thinking of her as a close aunt or second mother.

"That day will never come, I promise," he assured, and then let her go. "I'll _never_ take it that far."

Hound honked his horn impatiently, reminding Sam that he had somewhere to be and a woman to see.

"You're a good boy, Sam. I'd hate to see anything happen to you," Dr Spring sighed, patting his cheek lovingly. "Now go on, I've kept you here long enough."

With no need for further urging, Sam trotted out the door of the examination room and straight into the Hound's cab. In that instant, Hound revved his engine and eagerly shot off. They came out of the medical building and turned onto the main road. Sam glanced to the glowing clock on the dash, noting that it was nearly 2:30 in the morning. A normal drive to the Banes' house was about twenty minutes beyond the boundary of the rifts around base. With all the pent up energy Sam could feel thrumming through Hound, he had the feeling they were going to make it in half the time.

The glare of the lights on the dash flashed bright for a moment, radio stations zipping by until Hound settled on one he liked. It was country, of course.

Sam settled comfortably into the leather seats. "Looking forward to getting home, Hound?"

A deep rev vibrated through the body of the Jeep. "Damn right Ah'm lookin' forward ta getting home. Just about ready ta crawl out of mah armour," said Hound, sincerely enthusiastic.

"I know the feeling," Sam ceded sincerely. He scrubbed his hair back, taking a deep breath in hopes of calming his growing excitement. Thoughts of Mikaela kept rising unbidden in his mind. They were wreaking havoc on his self-control, winding him tighter as anticipation built. For his own sake, he tried to focus on having a proper conversation. No sense getting all wound up when Hound would just call him on it and embarrass the hell out of him. "So... you have all your gifts sorted out? You bought enough this time to fill a small market."

"Ah didn't buy that much- just everything Ah thought they'd like," Hound chuckled. In other words, he'd bought everything that had caught his optic. "But yeah, Ah know what's going ta who."

"Good, because catfights between those two are apoplectic," Sam replied, shuddering a bit. There was never a fist fight between them, but they often got loud and ended up being a headache to anyone close by.

Hound still chuckled warmly. His humans tended to be a little more feisty than most, which happened to be one of the things he loved most about them. He loved the uninhibited life in them, the vitality. "Ah was actually hoping ta ask if ya would deliver Mikaela's stuff. Seein' as you're gonna be with her anyways an' Ah don't feel like interrupting anything ya have planned, might as well send them along with ya."

"Give me until noon with her and you can give them to her yourself," Sam offered.

Hound replied with the equivalent of shaking his head in alt mode. "Ah'm too tired to be stayin' up long. As soon as Ah check in with Chase, Ah'll be going down fer recharge."

"Looking to have your own special alone time with Chase? I totally get that," Sam teased, grinning.

Hound's engine spluttered, revealing his embarrassment. "Ya know Chase and Ah... it's not... we're just... we can't..." The Jeep shook himself, rattling his human passenger. "Ah just want ta check in with her, is all. It'd be rude ta come home and not say a word."

"Oh yeah, so rude. Have fun "checking in" with her," Sam continued to tease, heavy on the innuendo, supplying even the air quote with exaggerated cheekiness.

Whenever it came to Hound and the Banes women, especially things between Hound and Chase, it was strictly a "don't ask, don't tell" policy. Anyone with eyes could see what was going on. For the most part, those who knew them and loved them accepted it. Yes, it was strange as hell and weirded them out, but who were they to say it was wrong? The subject was never discussed out loud if they could help it, for fear of shattering whatever fragile happiness had been found.

However, that did not always stop the occasional teasing or allusion to it.

Hound once again revved. "Don't be gettin' thoughts in your head, Sparky. Chase and Ah are good friends, that's all."

Sam laughed. "Is that what they're calling it nowadays?"

"Don't make me pull over," the scout threatened, a pout obvious in his tone. "Ah'll make ya walk the rest of the way there."

Knowing the threat was little more than a farce, Sam was polite enough to not call Hound's bluff. Instead, he artfully guided the conversation into more neutral subjects. For the rest of the drive, taken at a breakneck speed of nearly double the suggested speed limit, they were content to discuss Hound's current condition, what repairs remained, what happened while Sam was unconscious, and what Nemesis could possibly mean to them as a new potential threat. While not the most cheerful subjects to be tossing around before Sam saw his lover and Hound saw his... Chase, they were a necessary hazard of their profession.

All too soon, Hound was swinging off the main highway onto a dusty track marked only by the dinged mailbox that stood crooked at the head of it. About ten kilometres off the road, they came to a curious outcropping of rocks. As innocuous as they looked, there was also something disturbingly deliberate about them. In such a remote area, the sight of so many tyre tracks in the dirt should have been extremely suspicious. What was even more suspicious was the way in which the seemingly solid rock formations turned flat and translucent as Hound came around the side of them. The moment he was behind the flat holograms, they faded into vague transparent impressions upon the majestic night-touched desert. The holographic rocks had been specifically designed to be visible only to those in front of them, translucent once around them. Their purpose, of course, was to shield the quiet haven of a house and accompanying garage beside it from the harsh glare of the world beyond.

Sam strained against the seat belt, his gaze raking the property eagerly. He drank in the details bathed in moonlight, from the shabby-looking shape of a two-story building that deceptively appeared older than the desert itself but was in fact only a handful of years old, to the equally dusty auto-mechanics garage sitting several yards from it. Both were dark, advertising that all occupants within were soundly asleep.

Feeling in a daze, Sam numbly unclipped his seatbelt and tumbled from Hound's cab. Whereas everyone else in the vicinity was fast asleep, a part of his anatomy was waking up with a vengeance. He adjusted himself ruefully, getting harder by the minute with the thought of being so very close to Mikaela. He was several steps from the front door before Hound summoned him back to collect Mikaela's gifts.

"Shit," he cursed darkly. Quickly filling his arms with the considerable collection, Sam turned on his heel and blindly found his way back to the front door. He vaguely noted the rumble of Hound's engine fading as the Jeep rolled around back. The scout didn't need a door to get in. One, he could stand up and look in every window he wanted. Two, his hologram could appear wherever he wanted it to. Lucky bastard.

It took some expert fiddling, but Sam finally managed to get his fingers around the knob and jiggled the door open. Ducking into the house, he clicked the door shut with a mild score of irritation: no matter how many times he insisted, no one ever bothered to lock the front door at night. Never mind that it was to his convenience at the moment, any kind of creature, good or bad, could have wandered in at any time! The risk of an intruder was enough to make his blood run cold. That poor, innocent intruder, coming in to steal something, left to the unholy wrath of the women living within. Not a fate Sam would wish on anyone. He pointedly clicked the lock into place.

Familiar with the layout of the house, he shuffled through the usual clutter scattered around the floor. The house was never dirty, per se. There were too many neat freaks coming through the place, Sam being one of them, to ever have the Banes home look rode off. It did, in fact, boast of a very comfortable, lived-in atmosphere. The kind of place where you walked in, kicked your shoes off, and made yourself comfortable like it was your own home.

Once his toes hit the bottom of the stairs, Sam eagerly mounted them and tiptoed to the second floor. Heat and darkness assaulted him on the landing, the only light to see by supplied through the windows of bedrooms whose doors weren't closed.

Sam's heart raced as he neared the second door on the left. It was closed. What laid beyond was a treasure he'd trade his soul and more for. He shouldered his way in, juggling Hound's gifts. Careful not to wake the woman nestled in the bed only a few feet away, Sam wandered over to the tall lamp laying in the corner and tapped it on. Golden light spilt into the cluttered room, bringing with it the familiar sight of car magazines stacked on the floor next to _Cosmo_ mags, romance novels sharing space with small engine repair manuals on the bookshelf. The spaces in between gushed with evidence of Hound's over-active doting; framed pictures from all over the world wallpapered the walls, statuettes ate up all available shelf space. The closet and wardrobe overflowed with colourful scarves and exotic clothes.

Standing in the midst of the treasure trove, Sam took a deep breath. He smelled the familiar scents of fruity soaps and body lotions mixed with the dizzying scent of engine grease. Underlying it all was the heady scent of woman. _His_ woman. Every muscle in his body went tense, desire stringing him tight. At this rate, he would spontaneously combust with lust.

Next to him sat a stuffy chair whose cushions were relatively clean; in the next moment, it was overflowing with exotic gifts from Egypt and Sudan. Relieved of the burden, Sam tiptoed his way over to his still-sleeping lover.

Mikaela Banes: the loveliest woman in Sam's world. He'd spent most of his young life adoring her from afar, and eight years of his combined late teens and early adulthood actively adoring her. Worshipping her. Loving her. Not that it had been paradise between them for all eight years. They had their fights. There was the occasional "break". They always made up in the end, though. Sometimes they fought just for the great makeup sex afterwards. Most of all, they _loved _each other. It was a real kind of love. The kind that dug in deep and didn't want to let go. It was the kind of love that sustained and fed them when they were away from each other, the kind that only seemed to get stronger as they aged.

"Hey, Mickey," Sam murmured reverently, leaning over her to breathe her scent in deep, savouring her. He laid a kiss to her cheek, smiling softly when she stirred but didn't wake. "God, you're beautiful." Which was such an understatement. She was an impossible vision of temptation swathed in soft cotton sheets, her dark hair fanning out across her pillows, her honey-gold skin glowing in the lamplight. A surge of pride and possessiveness flooded Sam when he noticed the shirt she wore was one of his. The heat warming his blood turned to a steady burn.

He scrubbed his face, not liking the rough scrape of bristles along his jaw. He considered Mikaela's undisturbed beauty for a moment, and then grimaced when he knew she deserved so much more than a stubble burn from him. Shower and shave it was.

In the longest seven minutes of his life, he rushed through all the courtesies of looking his best for Mikaela. While his woman made being utterly gorgeous look effortless even in her sleep, it wasn't so easy for mere mortals. For Sam especially. Whenever he tried to spruce himself up, he only managed to make himself look plainer. Sometimes a blessing when he was hiding from evil alien demons looking to harvest him, but it sucked shit when he was just trying to look good for someone. He stumbled back into the bedroom from the connecting bathroom accompanied by a froth of white steam. Around his hips, a damp towel hung low.

The first thing he noticed upon entering the room was that Mikaela was not in bed anymore. She was bent over the chair he had deposited her gifts in. The second thing he noticed was that Mikaela had one of the finest asses he had ever seen. Generously round, firm, and heart-shaped. A panel of innocent pink cotton hid the full prize from his appraisal, but Sam could recall from memory every detail of that fine derrière.

"Holy hells, Mickey, you're killing me here," Sam breathed, leaning back against the door frame to bask in the gorgeous sight of the woman he loved. The erection he'd been sporting since the moment he first came into the room came back worse than ever, tenting the front of his towel. He did nothing to hide the evidence of his arousal. Not like it was a huge secret he wanted Mikaela like hell on fire. It wasn't a surprise when he got even harder when Mikaela calmly looked over her shoulder at him and smiled.

"It's good to see you too, Sam," she said, her voice filling his ears with a sexy sleepy purr. She straightened, her lush body hidden and revealed at the same time by the baggy t-shirt draped temptingly over her curves.

"Miss me?" Sam asked rhetorically.

"_Terribly."_ Her eyes traced him like a physical caress, drinking in every detail. She lingered in her favourite spots, licking her lips. When she looked at him like that, it made him feel like the most handsome man on Earth.

Sam opened his arms for her, which was all the invitation she needed. With a squeal that shouldn't have been attractive, yet Sam found it both endearing and arousing, Mikaela launched herself across the room. A single flying leap had her wrapped around his body, her legs snug around his waist, her arms tight around his neck. His arms came around her automatically, locking her to him. The sensory overlord of having her curvaceous body wrapped around him almost had him coming on the spot.

"A month is way too long to be away," Sam groaned, shifting against her. He was in need of skin-on-skin contact in a bad way.

"Just kiss me already," Mikaela ordered eagerly, yanking him forward for a searing kiss.

Their lips met without further ceremony. There was no tentative kiss for them. No delicacy or working up to the moment. They mashed their mouthes together, teeth banging. Their hot breaths mingled, lips soft and eager for each other. They had missed each other terribly and were trying to make up for it in the span of a single insane kiss. Hunger drove them to the brink. Steamy hot passion swamped them, desire turning their blood hot and thick. Arousal turned them hot and wanting.

The sudden moan to come out of Sam should have been embarrassing, only he was goaded into another one as Mikaela groaned eagerly in return and slanted her mouth against his. Her tongue didn't wait for an invitation before invading his mouth, licking her way in and remembering every wet secret kept there. Tapered fingers speared through his damp hair, urging him deeper. For a woman who had only woken up a sparse few minutes ago, she was absolutely _ravenous_.

Panting for breath, her mouth parted from him by only an inch. Her eyes were bright as they searched his. There was the faint glimmer of tears glittering in the corners.

"I heard on the news about the attack," she said breathlessly. She laid several quick kisses to the corners of his mouth. Her legs tightened around him as if to reassure herself he was there, and that she meant to never let him go. "I was so worried about you! It drove me insane that I couldn't call to make sure you were okay!"

Sam nuzzled along her jaw, soaking in her warmth and scent. He was drunk on it, his heart racing against his ribcage. "I'm sorry you worried," he mumbled, moving his lips down her throat, over sensitive skin. "I'm sorry I couldn't call."

Mikaela drew his face up, meeting his glowing blue eyes. The dim glow was barely noticeable, something that used to frighten her when she first noticed it. Now she knew it was just a part of who Sam was now. "No more radio silence, okay? Please."

"No more radio silence, promise." Sam offered his signature half-smile, leaning his forehead to hers. "I'm here now, I'm okay. It drove me crazy not being able to hear from you, either." His arms tightened around her, riding her hot core against his stomach. His legs nearly buckled at the sensation.

A shudder passed through Mikaela's body. Her limbs locked tighter around him. "I love you," she whispered against his neck, rubbing her lips to his strong pulse point. "Oh god, I love you so much. I missed you." Her voice wavered for a moment, like she was on the edge of tears.

"I missed you, too. It was hell without you." Sam held her tighter still, rocking gently. He kissed the side of her head, rubbing his face into her gorgeous hair. "I love you." He didn't say anything about her crying, knowing that she'd hate it if he mentioned it. He knew she found her composure the moment she captured his lips again and kissed him until he forgot his own name.

When they parted for the second time, their faces were flushed and desire glowed in the depths of their eyes. Sam's eyes literally glowed, growing brighter the more he was aroused. Mikaela's shaking hands framed his face, her thumbs skimming his freshly shaved cheeks. She wasn't frightened of being electrocuted by the latent power inside him; he'd never hurt her. Her tight nipples stabbed at his chest as she clung close. Her eyes met his enquiringly.

"You're okay, though, right? You're not hurt? Everyone's okay?" she asked breathlessly.

"Everyone's okay. Things got a little weird and there might be trouble in the future, but everything is quiet for the moment," Sam sighed. "I'm more than okay right now." Although his arms were getting a little tired from supporting her weight. He resisted the urge to throw her on the bed and have his way with her. He was hot as hell for her, but he didn't want to be a caveman. He could be a gentleman.

As if reading his mind, Mikaela adjusted her lower body so she pressed flagrantly against that rigid part of his anatomy. She wasn't about to help him keep his self-control. Placing him in the crux of her thighs, she rode him against the wet crotch of her panties. The towel, ineffectual as it was, fell away. Mikaela hardly needed to add more seduction to the scene, but her pleasured moan in his ear as she stroked intimately against him had Sam revving to a whole new level.

"Bed, Sam," she ordered, tugging his earlobe between her teeth. "Bed or the floor."

He blinked rapidly, processing his current options. "Bed. Definitely bed."

In a surge of action, Mikaela was bouncing in the centre of her mattress. Feeling the loss of her warmth acutely, Sam was on her in seconds. His hands under her t-shirt, tracing her smooth skin, possessing every curve with his touch. When he couldn't take it anymore, he hiked the hem up over the generous swell of her breasts and bent his head to her lovely nipples. He suckled like a starved man, fondling the other in reverent desperation.

Mikaela was certainly no stiff as she writhed beneath his weight. Her hands were uninhibited and shamelessly greedy as they smoothed their way across his body. She groped every muscle, nails scoring sensitized flesh and then soothing the burn with massaging touches. Her long, smooth legs were around his waist again in a flash, undulating against him. She was slick and swollen, soaked through with desire. The flush of her skin made her glow in the lamplight. Her gasped moans plucked on Sam's consciousness, throwing him into a deeper haze of instinct-driven lust. She rode against his bare skin in a dance that nearly drove him _insane_.

His lips came away from her breasts, peppering the whole expanse of her chest and ribs with worshipping kisses before laving his way upward. He licked over her collarbone, sucking her pulse point. His hand nudged between them, roving down toward her panties. In one hard jerk, he managed to rip the insubstantial material from her body.

"Holy shit," she gasped in surprise, watching the pink scrap of cotton flutter to the floor nearby. Instead of being mad, she laughed and quickly struggled out of her shirt before it could be ruined in a bout of intense passion.

"Want you bad," Sam murmured, barely able to form the words. He should have been apologizing for the panties, but found he wasn't really sorry.

"Good- I want you, too," Mikaela purred, arching into him.

Full-body naked skin-to-skin contact. Where they touched, fires ignited. Passion raged. Liquid desire pooled deep inside them, coiling tight. Sam closed his large palm around the delicate bones of Mikaela's bent knee, bending her leg up higher, and then pushing to the side to open her further. He settled into the unrestricted slick heat, revelling in the glory. His hardness against her softness was a drugging combination. He was drunk in the sensations, so close to being undone by them.

"Want you- inside," Mikaela panted, her plea so raw that it resonated with a primal part of Sam.

He thanked his lucky stars Mikaela was on the Pill. Handling a condom in his current state probably would have killed him. As it stood, he positioned himself at her entrance and sunk in until the head of his shaft was snug inside. Sam's eyes crossed. Dreaming of her for the past month sure as hell did not compare to the sensation of actually being inside her. It was all slick, tight heat rippling around him, squeezing him. He pressed in another inch, feeling her stretch to accommodate him. It felt like heaven.

"_Sam." _His name fell from her lips as she arched, her hands grabbing his ass. Her nails scored his cheeks as she shoved him forward, driving his whole length into her. The sudden thrust had lights bursting in front of their eyes. Pleasure so intense that it wiped all thought from their minds. Real lights burst in the room around them; brief blue flickers as harmless as lightning bugs. They both cried out, lost in the sudden rush of wanton pleasure-pained heat. It only got better the longer they were connected.

Sweat slicked their bodies, beading across their flesh, glinting in the golden light. Muscles quivered. Pulses raced. Sam withdrew until only the head of his shaft remained snug inside her. He met her gaze. Mouthed the words _I love you_. And then he thrust back into her in one long, wet slide. Mikaela's head fell back, groaning in abandon. Her hands roved his body with a mind of their own, her body clutching him thoroughly, possessing him as greatly as he was possessing her.

What started as a steady, hungry glide quickly built up pace as visceral desires were inflamed and inner demons were set off leash. Power started to build, and not the alien kind. It was a completely human sensation. Deep and intrinsic. Their bodies moved to a wild dance, seeking sensation and completion. Seeking release and satisfaction. A harder, faster, deeper rhythm came into being, driving them farther over the edge.

For a fraught moment, they teetered at the very precipice. The moment passed, and then they were crashing into the storm.

Mikaela turned as taught as a tension wire, her body arching beautifully beneath Sam's. Her sheath fluttered around him, squeezing like a hot fist as he pumped into her. Stars exploded before his vision as he followed her over the edge. He spilt into her with a shout, tides of bone-deep pleasure assaulting him from every direction.

A flash of blue sparked in the room, brighter than the sparks before. The sensation of electric spider webs brushed across them, barely there but tingling. Sam held no fear of it. Mikaela twisted into it, letting her arms and legs be brushed by the near-invisible threads fading out of the air. She laughed, groaned, and kissed Sam with a passion. Sam eagerly returned the kiss, pouring everything he had into it. Sex was one of the few true emotional releases he had where he didn't have to fear frying anyone. It was a boon he was grateful for every day of his life. He was able to ride the intense waves of his orgasm into the languid aftermath of sated contentedness.

With a gentle push, Mikaela put him to his back. Her expression was love-drunk and deeply sated, so well-loved that her eyes glowed (not literally) as she looked at him. She rolled to her side and snuggled against him, one arm and one leg possessively coming around him to stake her claim. Sam didn't mind, of course. He tended to be just as possessive of her.

Kiss-bruised lips tickled their way along his jaw in a lazy post-coitus trail of affection.

"I love it when you love me like that," Mikaela murmured, nipping at the underside of his chin playfully.

"Good, there's plenty more where that came from," Sam replied, turning over so he could wrap his arms around her and tuck her into his body. "Just give me a moment to bask in you and then I won't let you up until noon."

Mikaela's eyes danced playfully. "You always did love a challenge."

Sam kissed the top of her head. "No, I just love you."

All the other things that had to be said- all the things that happened in Sudan, the mech called Nemesis, Bumblebee's strange behaviour... That could all wait. At least for a few hours. In that moment, Sam was like any other soldier returned home from a hard battle, intent on making love instead of war.


	8. To Keep a Promise

Alright, I have a feeling I may come to regret posting this chapter, since school is in full swing for many readers and no one has two minutes to spare for a review. *sighs* Oh well, that's life, isn't it? I guess I'm just feeling the extra strain from university. I really shouldn't be venting here. -_- I'll take the chance posting now just to celebrate the long weekend coming up. =) For what it's worth, I am extremely grateful for the reviewers that I do have. Excuse me for being so mushy, but you (am I speaking to you directly, reviewers~) are truly my inspirations when I write. You guys make it worth the effort to continue rather than just drop the damn story and focus on other things. When you have ideas, suggestions, and insights into the story, it's a small thrill to know that someone out there is _that_ interested in the work. ^_^

**Phoebe Turner-** I'm so glad you liked it~ Thank you for reviewing! =D

**Bluebird Soaring**- Yeah, in between all the crazy things happening- war, and Earth hating the Autobots, being the Allspark, being hunted down because he's the Allspark- Sam doesn't get a lot of time to himself, does he? ^_^; Oh well, at least he has Mikaela to be his anchor when the world gets to be too much. =) As for letting Hound have his Chase, you may get to see a bit of that in this chapter. =P

**CNightJoy-** Oh my goodness, I'm so glad you enjoyed the chapter! And I'm thrilled that you think Psi is the creepiest villain you've ever read~ He's actually a personal fave of mine to write for. =P As for your questions... You're in luck! I definitely intend to explore more depth of Chase and Hound's relationship (some of which will be seen in this chapter). And course I could never leave Prowl and Jazz out of the equation! They'll be showing up in a few chapters~ ^_^

**EerieIri**- Haha, I'd like to say my ability to write sex scenes is natural talent, but it's taken years of refining to get it just right. If you practise enough, I'm sure you'll be as good at [writing] sex as I am! XD And I am so glad that you enjoyed the chapter. It made my day to hear that~ If you liked the allusion to Chase/Hound, I think you may enjoy this chapter. =P

**Flameshield**- Sex _is_ an interesting thing, isn't it? Interesting to read, interesting to write. Glad you enjoyed it. =P Thank you so much for reviewing both chapters 6 and 7. It really meant a lot~! =D

**Balrog Roike**- I think there are pros and cons for the interfacial ports, just like all things in life. For Sam, the pros outweigh the cons- so it might seem like a bad deal from where we sit, but to him it's worth it. ^_^ I am pretty sure there will be more talk on the implants later in the story, so you're welcome to make your judgements then. Thank you so much for reviewing~

**Dramastar-Mel**- Aww, thank you so much~ Sam and Mikaela are such a fun couple to write for, so I'm glad you like the way I portray them. =) Thank you so much for reviewing. It really means a lot. ^_^

Love to **FunkyFish1991** and **Litahatchee** for looking at this whenever they did~ I love you two like hell on fire. ^_^

This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful reviewers of the last chapter who took the time to let me know they were reading. You guys brought a smile to my face when there hasn't been a lot to smile about lately, and for that I will always be grateful~

**May We Never Let Go  
To Keep a Promise**

Grateful for his centuries of experience in the areas of spying, scouting, and sleuthing, Hound was as silent as the night as he made his way around to the back of the house.

Who would have guessed all those missions going into highly dangerous Decepticon territories would prepare him for the ultimate gauntlet- sneaking around his own house. If he _really_ thought about it, he didn't need to be sneaking for any particular reason. One, the woman he intended to see slept like the dead. Two, he lived here- yes, in the apartments below ground, but that was a technicality. This was his house, he helped build it, he co-owned the property.

However, he did respect that others happened to be sleeping in the near vicinity, so he was quiet and sneaked around for them.

Coming to a rolling halt beneath the narrow balcony he wanted, he transformed as quietly as possible and peered inside the open glass doors. At 23 feet, he was a little shorter than Ironhide and would have normally had a little trouble peering into a second story window without craning. Thankfully, since he had helped design the Banes' home, he'd been a little selfish and made it as accessible to himself (and other Cybertronians) as possible. A minor hill rose just below Chase's balcony, supplying a platform for himself. He could rest his arms comfortably against the narrow balcony ledge and casually lean in for a chat whenever the mood struck him.

Within the dark, warm cave of Chase's room, no detail was left obscured to the scout's optics. He was perfectly adept at seeing through the gloom. Unlike Mikaela's meticulous treasure trove of loved items stuffed side-by-side with all the care and consideration she could muster, Chase was content to live in the essence of her own lazy filth. While the term 'cesspool' might have been a touch too strong, she did live _very_ comfortably. The kind of comfortable that involved sprawling out everywhere and not giving a damn about what it looked like.

From Hound's vantage point, he could see her clothes strewn across floor alongside boots and books and manuals. The sheets on the bed probably hadn't been changed in a few weeks. A car air-freshener hung from the light in the middle of the room in hopes to dispel the stale scent of alcohol, gasoline, and human. The mess suited Hound just fine. He even _preferred_ it. He was the type of mech who liked to live comfortably in his own dirt whenever possible, so he fit into the lifestyle of the Banes household just fine.

The only things that were not all over the floor were Hound's gifts and evidence of his affections. The scout was not at all discouraged by the fact. He knew Chase too well to know she wouldn't dare get rid of a thing. She was much less obvious about showcasing her world-class souvenirs than her niece, but that didn't mean she was any less in love with everything. He pretended he didn't see when he gave her gifts, but Hound wasn't blind- he saw the way her black eyes would light up. He saw her smiles.

When you knew where to look, it was easy to see that Chase cared... in her own brash, stubborn, reluctant kind of way.

After a brief sweep of the shadowy haven, his gaze zeroed in on a lumpy mass laying off to the side of the open doors. He traced the outline of a large bed and the sprawled human shape tangled within the sheets strewn on top. Chase's distinguished snoring, equivalent to the sound of a backed up drain pipe, was obnoxiously loud, much like she was when awake. She was Hound's human, though, and he liked her just the way she was. He couldn't help the grin that lit his features, nor the excited rev that purred through him. Were he a lesser bot, he would have been embarrassed over how his spark fluttered. Even his recently banged out dents didn't hurt so much anymore.

To his delight, Chase was even close enough for him to reach in and nudge her awake. She must have moved the bed closer to the balcony while he was away. He was sorely tempted to see her dark eyes shoot open and spark tar-black fire at him over such an early rousing. It would have been fun to get such a rise out of her. He thought better of the option, though. It was still too early to be waking any human, especially when, by the looks of things, she had only gotten to sleep a few hours before. He was not such a cruel mech, though he was a tempted one.

Completely content to enjoy a little time simply settling in, Hound activated his hologram on the balcony and quickly handed off his presents to the extension of himself. Once custody of the gifts was transferred, the Jeep quickly folded back into his alt mode and got comfortable. Consciousness was partially transferred to that holographic matrix, met with a sudden jolt as he went from sitting on the ground outside to standing on a balcony like some secret Romeo lover. He tried not to think about how much that allegory made him want to laugh. He didn't have a lot of energy left, so he would have to be sparing with his hologram for now.

He didn't hesitate walking into the bedroom. No matter the mood of the human who owned it, he was always welcome. Warm gloom wrapped around him in a welcoming embrace, drawing him in deeper. He was grateful for his night vision as he shuffled a minor gauntlet through the scattered knots of clothing on the floor. He came to a buried desk in the shadowed corner and elbowed free enough space to deposit his load. He took infinite care in arranging the display for best viewing quality; once done, he stepped back, assessed it, and then adjusted it until he was absolutely satisfied with it.

From down the hall, he could hear the unmistakable sounds of a shower hissing on. Sam was obviously trying to clean himself up in order to properly reunite with Mikaela. Hound chuckled, happy for them both. He was also fortunate enough not to have to deal with wash racks as often as a human did, not being so fond of them when compared to sitting out in the rain or goading a particular human into giving him a good scrub. The latter option he happened to take _a lot _of delight in.

And speaking of a particular human... a muffled sigh from behind Hound reminded him of his sleeping company. True to form, she was still deeply entrenched in dreamland.

"Ah could'a jumped on that bed and you'd probably still sleep through it," he sighed good-naturedly. Truth be told, if he'd jumped on the bed, he would have ended up thrown off the balcony, but that was a minor detail.

Smoothly making his way to her side, he stared down at the human he had been most eager to see upon getting home. She was... well, there weren't a lot of words Hound knew that could describe her. There were even less words to describe how he felt about her.

Chase was as she had been seven years ago, only now bearing a few more marks of time. New tattoos, new scars; thin lines beginning to form around her diamond-sharp eyes. An occasional wisp of white sometimes appeared in her mass of tangled black-brown hair, though she usually pulled the offending follicles out before anyone else noticed. Details that broke Hound's spark whenever he saw them. They worried him and saddened him because they were reminders that she only had so much time left. To Hound, the entirety of Chase's life was already too short. To be constantly reminded of her mortality hurt him in ways he couldn't describe.

If he could have shared his immortality with her, he would have.

Bending close, he brushed her hair away from her face. He rubbed his cheek to her cheek and revelled in the brief closeness between them. His lips brushed her warm skin in a gesture that wasn't quite a kiss.

He made no secret of his affections for the human woman. He gave her gifts as if courting her. He stayed with her as if exclusive to her. The only thing he never did was say the words. He even went as far as to deny it, such as in tonight's case with Sam. To say what his spark felt was crossing a line they weren't prepared to cross. For all the guns and brute force he had, words were the things that could do the most damage. So he stayed silent and went through the motions, wishing it was enough.

Not that Chase was blind to his affections. She was anything but that. She knew, she accepted it, and, for the most part, welcomed him with the resigned comfort of someone who had given up on trying to dissuade him. To an extent, she even returned his affections, but only for as long as she could go without being reminded of the blatant differences and impossibilities between the two of them. She still had her issues with his species. Seeing passed the metal to know the spark within was hard for her.

For all the things they were and weren't to each other, Hound held true to the promise he had made years before. He would be her friend and nothing more.

Settling on the edge of the mattress, he placed a gentle kiss to the pattern of stars that decorated Chase's left shoulder. She refused to wear an Autobot insignia like some humans. She showed her support in less obvious ways. The stars were her compromise. Hound was careful to trace one fondly. Chase groaned and rolled over, giving him her naked back. From her back glared a horned serpent, an angry dragon-snake thing that curled over her spine, down the entire expanse of her back.

Taking her pose as an invitation, Hound slid over the sheets and turned so he was aligned against her back. He was close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, even through the sheets he stayed above. He wished he could wrap his arms around her and hold her tight, but, again, his promise held him at bay. Instead, he revelled in stolen moments like these when he could pretend he was a human being with a human mate and a human family in a real home.

That's how he drifted off into standby, with everything he wanted within reach and unable to reach out and hold it.

He was brought back to awareness a few hours later by the distinct feeling of being watched. Opening his own eyes, he was met with a glittering black stare from the pillow next to his. Seeing that he was aware once again, Chase leaned in, blowing a warm breath of air across his face in the fashion she knew Cybertronians showed affection. Hound smiled, leaning in to meet her, brushing his forehead to hers. One of his hands caressed her cheek. Their lips were close, but he knew better than to try for a kiss. Holograms were not the most pleasant tasting things.

"You're back," Chase said quietly, her raspy voice warm and slow from sleep. She eased back to her pillow, settling comfortably.

"Got back last night," Hound replied in just as intimate a tone.

A muffled thump came through the wall, followed by brief laughter that ended on a long groan.

Chase's eyes slid from Hound to the wall that connected to Mikaela's room and then back to Hound. "I take it you brought the boy with you."

"He was eager to come," Hound supplied, grinning.

"I bet he was... and that better not have been a pun," replied the woman, her tone wry, accompanied by a roll of her eyes.

Hound laughed, shaking his head. "You have a dirty mind."

"You're not so innocent yourself, so don't act like it," Chase snorted, flicking her companion in the forehead. Through the walls, they heard the continued escapades of round two going on... or was it round three yet? With another snort, Chase shoved up and over Hound. "Boy!" she shouted at wall. "I ain't listening to you two fuck like rabbits first thing in the goddamn morning! Quiet the fuck down!"

"_Oh my god! Stop listening!" _Mikaela screeched, sounding more annoyed than mortified.

"Stop being so loud!" Chase retorted.

"_Put earplugs in, woman!"_ Sam bellowed.

"Put a muzzle on, boy!" When no reply came, Chase huffed in victory. Truly, seven long years had brought Chase and Sam to an understanding and a sense of respect for each other... and they hid it extremely well. They could almost be called friends, if he wasn't dating her niece.

"You're always so charmin' in the morning," Hound drawled teasingly, taking Chase's arms out from under her so that she collapsed on his chest.

"What can I say? Other people having sex when I'm not always puts me in a charming mood," Chase sighed, relaxing into Hound's form. It was so rare to find someone bigger than her, someone who could honestly physically match her, that she secretly revelled in the size of Hound's hologram.

And Hound secretly revelled in the feel of Chase being on top of him, holding him. He nuzzled the side her head. "If ya wanted sex, all ya had ta do was ask..."

She flicked him in the forehead. "Not a chance in hell."

"Your loss," Hound chuckled, brushing a tangled hunk of hair out of his companion's face. She made a grumbling noise very much like a purr, turning her face up into his hand. Hound made a revving noise in return, which made Chase laugh. Moments like these were far and few between, when both of them either forgot who they were or were content to pretend they were something they weren't. Such precious moments could never be wasted.

Chase turned her face into his touch, her lips brushing his hand gently. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "Have you been here long?"

"Only a few hours," Hound replied.

"That's not too bad, I guess," Chase admitted. "I tried staying up until you got home, but I totally passed out."

"Ah've been in standby most of the time Ah've been here, so ya weren't missing much," Hound assured warmly.

Chase nodded, sinking deeply into the warm bulk of Hound's hologram. "Watched the news, too. Hard time over there?"

"Yeah, ya could say that."

"Tell me about it?"

Hound hesitated, his arms flexing tight around his human. In return, Chase drew her arms around him, offering as much silent support as she could give. The sheet once covering Chase's body was gone, but neither Hound nor Chase showed any concern for the detail. The most Hound did was snuffle her hair, stroking her bare back, and then quietly recited the details of the mission for her. Chase listened sympathetically, her fingertips smoothing through his hair soothingly.

"That's crazy shit," she said of the tale once he was done.

Hound's arms tightened fractionally. "Ah'm afraid it might only get worse."

"Don't say that, will you?" Chase groaned, her warm breath fanning against his neck. "Things are bad enough as it is."

"Ah know, but it'll get better eventually... hopefully," Hound sighed, his eternal optimism wavering.

"It better get better." Chase levered up to look him in the eye, a change of subject evident in her gaze. "Are you outside right now or in your apartments?"

He made a face, disappointed to be reminded so soon that the shape he was now was not his true shape. "Ah'm outside," he sighed.

"You should get inside and get some recharge," Chase said, her tone a mix of a no-nonsense order and fond entreaty. She wasn't quite reminded of his inhumanity yet, perhaps hanging on to the fragile illusion in hope of... something that would never be.

"But-."

"You've been here as a hologram for a few hours- that's too long if you're already hurt and exhausted. Don't waste your energy on me. I'll see you when you get up," Chase sighed. In contrast to her order to leave, she rubbed his cheek with her palm, an invitation to stay if there ever was one.

Hound purred delightedly, leaning into his human's touch. "Being here ain't a waste. Ah like being with ya."

"Masochist." Nevertheless, she appeared to have forgotten herself completely as she leaned into him, her face inching toward his own. Hound's spark fluttered. He leaned in as well, getting ever closer.

It was in that moment that his energy levels decided to falter, his hologram flickering for a moment. When he reinitialized, his spark sank like a rock. The glittering blackness of Chase's eyes dulled as she watched him. Hound felt her drawing away. Stupidly, he tried to hold on.

"_Don't,"_ Chase breathed lowly against him, pulling away even more insistently.

Hound released her reluctantly.

Now free from the cage of his arms, Chase slipped out of reach to the other side of the mattress. Distance made her feel safer. Saner. If he wasn't touching her with that damned hologram, distracting her with how _real_ he felt, then she couldn't forget that he was just a hologram.

"Chase," Hound sighed, hoping she would look at him. She looked away, hiding the self-directed disgust that briefly crossed her features. Hound's spark sank to a new low. He sat up, reaching for her. "Ah'm sorry, Ah shouldn't have-."

A frustrated hand waved him into silence, keeping him at bay. Her face fell into a blank mask. "No, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking..."

"Ah was the one being selfish," Hound said with a shake of his head, as able to meet his human's gaze as much as she was able to meet his. Which was not at all. "Ah couldn't help coming ta ya like this. Ah missed ya too much to-."

"_I know."_ She turned her back to him, sat up, and then hunched over. Her elbows rested on her knees, her face buried in her upturned palms. He could practically see her trying to mentally reconcile herself once again to the perversion of being so intimate with something that wasn't really there. As much as Hound truly wanted to be in the room, he really wasn't. He was left outside in the cold with nothing but a hologram to say otherwise. He wasn't physically with her; Chase was as alone as he.

Physically, they could get close. In all other ways that counted, they were worlds apart.

Chase abruptly rose to her feet. She shivered, despite the fact that it was extremely warm in the room. Light from the rising morning spilt in through the open doors, silhouetting her long, solid form as she stooped to search the floor for something to wear. Never a pretty or cute creature, she was nonetheless handsome in a fierce, predatory kind of way. A pair of flannel shorts and a tank top were found, clean enough if not a little stale. She began to shrug into the top.

Hound popped to his feet, snatched a pair of clean panties from the floor and offered them to his companion. They were plucked from his hands without her ever meeting his eyes. As soon as she was dressed, she walked out onto the balcony without sparing his hologram a second look, effectively dismissing him. Her gaze was drawn downward to the forest green Jeep sitting in the dirt.

"Transform, Hound," she requested softly.

Inwardly, Hound sighed. His hologram pixelated and then shattered without a sound. As consciousness returned fully to himself, Hound came to his feet and leaned into the balcony.

"Here Ah am," he murmured, meeting her gaze. A hot rush of metal-and-dirt scented air sighed from his vents, ruffling his companion's clothes. She leaned into the warmth, seemingly comforted by the validation that Hound was indeed a giant alien robot. The divide their species acted as an invisible shield. It comforted one of them while it disheartened the other.

Chase leaned out over the railing as far as she dared, haunted eyes taking in his plethora of hurts. "You look like you got in a fight with a car compactor and lost," she grouched.

"Ah did happen ta be fightin' for mah life a couple weeks ago, leeches, kremzeeks, you name it, we fought it," Hound intoned quietly, rolling his optics. "At least Ah look better than Ah did when Ah first arrived."

"I fucking hate leeches. I hate what they do to you," Chase spat, her hand bridging the gap between them to rest on Hound's faceplate. Her fingertips traced a long, thin gouge that had not been there before. In a month, the metal would regenerate and it would be gone, but she would know it was there, like so many other hurts she'd been forced to witness in the past.

Hound couldn't feel the touch very well, but he leaned into it nonetheless. "Everything turned out okay in the end, Ah told ya that."

"Yeah, and then you said it was only going to get worse," Chase countered. She dropped her hand and backed up a safe distance, crossing her arms over her chest for warmth. Dawn was a little chilly, the sun having yet to warm the landscape. Standing in Hound's shadow didn't help. "Go get some recharge, will you? Sleep this off before you make it worse."

Hound nodded. "Ah'll see ya in a few days, then."

"I'll be waiting," Chase shrugged, though the corner of her mouth kicked up into a tiny smile.

Hound was about to turn, but stayed for a moment to press his luck. "When Ah get up, would ya mind helpin' meh wash up...?"

Chase snorted, smiling a little more freely. "You need more than a wash," she informed. "I'll detail your alt mode's insides, too. You're probably full of sand, right?"

Hound made a face, shifting on his feet. The gritty noise of sand grinding against his insides could be heard. "Yeah. Feels like sandpaper when Ah move."

The human nodded, mentally checking her calendar. Her schedule miraculously cleared for him. "Consider yourself cleaned out when you come online, then." She paused, considering something for a moment, and then asked, "Do you want me to come down to check on you while you recharge? I don't mind wiping the dust off and working on some of the minor injuries to help the healing process." She eyed a few of the injuries she obviously didn't like the look of.

"Only if you're not busy," Hound ceded with a grateful nod. Ratchet was the main medic for every Cybertronian in the area, but Chase and Mikaela had become sufficient enough at basic repairs under Ratchet's tutelage that they were capable of minor repairs when a bot wasn't in the mind for dealing with The Hatchet.

"For you? I make time," Chase laughed.

Hound was sufficiently flattered, revving lightly. "Ah guess Ah better get going now..." He straightened and looked at the brightening sky above him, a little chagrined that he had to move underground to recharge. What he wouldn't give to have a room above ground with a window to enjoy the fresh air and sunlight.

"Hound, before you go... uh- c'mere," Chase called to his retreating back, summoning him with a quick little flick of her hand.

Curious, Hound turned back and leaned in. "Yeah?"

She looked left, then right, and then leaned over the railing to hug his head. "I'm glad you're back in one piece," the human said quietly. A second later, she coughed in embarrassment and stepped away.

Hound suddenly grinned, his whole faceplate lighting up. "You know Ah'm happy ta be back with ya," he replied, stepping back. Time for recharge before his energy reserves dried up and he passed out. "Goodnight, Chase."

The human smiled dryly, glancing upward to the day-bright sky. "Good morning, Hound."


	9. To Start the Day

I must admit, despite fears of regret, I certainly was pleasantly surprised by the response to the last chapter. =) It seems there _are_ people out there who have a minute to spare to share some love. =P Believe me, after the life I've been having lately, some love is definitely needed. You know the kind of life you live where you're wondering what's the point? Yeah, I'm right there. -_- But, you're here for entertainment, not whining, so I might as well not bore you with the details. ^_^;

My sincerest thanks to the reviewers of last chapter for reminding me why I bust my ass to write this series: because there are some pretty awesome people out there reading it and not afraid to submit a review. Seriously, you people are like the purest source of inspiration in the universe.

**CNightJoy**- I really wish I could tell you what I have planned for Chase and Hound in the future, my friend, but that would completely ruin the surprise. =P However, I can say that it's never going to be easy for them, and as for Mirage... He hasn't really warmed up to humanity yet. -_-

**Lady Tecuma**- Haha, I've made a Chase/Hound fan out of you? Then I consider my job done! XD I'm happy that I could give you a good laugh at Sam and Mikaela, too. =P Thanks so much for taking the time to review~

**Phoebe Turner**- Awww, I'm glad you liked the chapter, despite it being a bit sad~ ^_^

**Dazja**- lol~ I hope the cuteness-induced cavities were worth it! XD Thanks so much for reviewing! =)

**Eerie Iri**- Really, the chapter was squee worthy? Well then, I will certainly take that as an awesome compliment. XD I'm glad you were able to enjoy reading the chapter that much. Thank you so much for taking the time to review. =)

**Flameshield**- My goodness, Afghanistan is certainly not an easy place to be. My dad's been over twice. =( I'm glad that these chapters are able to give you a little boost. =) Thank you so much for reviewing~

**Marie Vulffe**- lol, I'm glad you got a kick out of Chase's air freshener (and the rest of the chapter)~! =P You actually make a good point that I hadn't thought of before- Chase and Hound can relax around each other, but they can't exactly be themselves when they're always pretending… =/ I can't say the future's going to get any easier for them, either. But hey, if anything in life was easy, would it be worth it? =P Thanks so much for your wonderful review! ^_^

**DramaStar-Mel**- Aww, thank you so much~ Writing for Chase and Hound is always fun, so I'm glad there are readers who enjoy it as well. =) Thank you so much for reviewing~ It really means a lot. =)

**Bluebird Soaring**- There's a lot of things keeping Chase and Hound apart, but you're totally right- the true test of love is to be with someone you can never really _be with_ on that intimate level. And let me tell you, Mirage certainly doesn't make things any better. -_- If you're a fan of Chase's POV on life, you're in luck: this chapter is her POV! =P I hope you enjoy! =D

**Juzu**- Oh, thank you so much~! I'm glad you enjoy the portrayal of Chase and Hound's rocky relationship. They're such an interesting duo. ^_^; Thank you so much for reviewing! =D

**Balrog Roike**- Yeah, it was a bit fluffy, wasn't it? A nice break from all that angst the story usually showcases. ^^; Thanks for reviewing! =)

**Chloo**- Awww, you have no idea how much your view really touched my heart. You have a way of writing that makes the chapter seem a thousand times better than it is. Every time a reader says that they enjoy Chase's character, it's really quite an amazing moment. Your insights and ideas and opinions on the chapter were so wonderful to read. Honestly, I wish I could spill every secret of the future of WE for you, but that would ruin the surprises that lay ahead. =P However, I was so warmed by your review, I had to post this chapter in response. So, this is kind of dedicated to you. =) I hope you enjoy! ^_^

_Carly Walker & Raoul Mendez- _You may recognize their names from G1, which is totally valid since they were inspired by their G1 counterparts. ^_^ Of course, they may not be the same characters you all know and love, since things tend to get a little tweaked in the WE-verse. =P

_Leo Spitz_- He's not the same douche bag from the movie, although his character was kind of inspired by him. ^_^;

Read, Review, and Enjoy!

**May We Never Let Go  
****To Start the Day... with Coffee and a Headache**

Chase let the cold railing of the balcony bite into her ribs as watched Hound's tailgate disappear into an old shed. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the groan and rattle of pulleys and hydraulics as Hound was lowered via the hidden lift into his apartments. The moment Chase was sure he was gone, she groaned long and low, a sound a chronic frustration. When that was not enough, she bent down and thumped her forehead a few times against the wrought iron railing she leaned against. That only succeeded in giving her a minor headache.

"Goddamn it, Hound. You just have to be like that, don't you?" she sighed.

She was woman enough to admit that there were days when she wished Hound was really human. Just as she knew there were days when Hound wished it, too. It would have made things so much easier. But he _wasn't_ human. He was... himself. And Chase was... herself. And they were both two people who were better off being... themselves. Like two separate entities. Apart from each other. Just. Being. _Friends_.

Because that was better for them both.

Except... Hound was always trying to _make it work_ without ever making it work. And sometimes, Chase let him because she didn't want to say no. She got so fucking tired of always saying **no**.

And somehow they always managed to make things so much more _difficult_.

_Especially_ with those stupid holograms. Stupid, _stupid_ holograms.

Hound was the resident expert in holographic technology. He didn't mind operating through a hologram. He _liked_ pretending that he was human. Plenty of folks just figured it was because he was strange, but Chase knew the truth. It wasn't just some quirk that Hound wanted to be human. It was because he didn't want to be Cybertronian anymore. He was tired of fighting, tired of losing pieces of himself all the time. Amour. Limbs. Friends. Memories. Pieces of his spark. He envied humans because they knew how to stop- sort of. But Hound could never _be_ human. All he could do was live his fantasies through his holograms. And Chase let him, for the most part, because she knew how much it meant to him.

That didn't mean she always _liked_ it, though.

Holograms, to her, weren't _real_. It was like living in a virtual reality and missing out on real life. If given the choice, Chase preferred the actual Cybertronian to any hologram. Talking to the real individual was less confusing, and you didn't have to feel guilty knowing the real bot was sitting outside somewhere all alone. Plus, it was real hard to forget they were giant alien robots when you were talking to one face-to-face instead of through a hologram.

Not that Mirage ever let her forget, anyways.

"This sucks," she sighed with a tired shake of her head. She retired back into her room to escape the early morning chill. Spying the digital clock by her bed, she noted it was just after seven. A perfect time to start yet another day in the life of Chase Banes- listening to the endless whining of humans and Autobots about every little mechanically-related malady they could ever possible think to have. No matter how many times she said she didn't care, they just kept talking.

And people wondered why she was an alcoholic.

Wandering to the closet to snatch a clean pair of overalls to wear in the garage, she stopped halfway when the glitter of something on her desk caught her eye. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips when she realized the new brightness to her room was thanks to the gifts Hound had left her. Wandering closer, she touched the cool glass of the dark bottle, eyeing the label curiously. Most of the writing was in Arabic, but she made out a small scribble of English in the corner: _absinthe_. That summoned a soft laugh from her. Hound always knew the best gifts to get her. Although, picking up a scarf and briefly wrapping it around her neck to enjoy the softness of it, Chase couldn't say she didn't enjoy everything else. She loved it all, and would never admit it even upon threat of painful death.

Turning back to her closet, she grabbed the handle of a heavy wooden chest shoved into the back corner. With careful consideration, the lock was jimmied, the lid lifted, and years worth of contents exposed in a rush of crisp cedar scent mixed with mothballs. It was not just Hound's affections that filled the chest, but a lifetime of memories Chase preferred to keep hidden from the world. Pictures, trinkets, and memorabilia that didn't quite fit the person she had become, so it stayed buried faraway where no one would ever see. Everything except the bottle of absinthe went into the chest; thanks to her Autobot, it was getting ridiculously full.

Shoving her box back where it belonged, Chase whipped down her overalls for the day and yanked them on over her tank top and shorts. Without even bothering to comb her hair, she slumped into the hall. In passing Mikaela's bedroom, she gave the door a good thump for fun. The objecting squawks that came from within were satisfying enough. Halfway down the stairs, the pungent aroma of brewed coffee hit her. Knowing Mikaela and Sam had had no time for detouring downstairs for coffee, that could only mean...

"Morning, Chase," William Lennox greeted absently as she came into the kitchen. He didn't look up from the newspaper he was reading, comfortably set up at her table with a mug of coffee and a half-eaten bagel. Next to him sprawled Maggie Madsen, the epitome of a not-a-morning-person as she snored gently.

Chase crossed her eyes and groaned.

Fucking hell.

For most people, their home was their sanctuary where they could escape the evils of the world. Home was supposed to be the place where you could relax and do whatever the hell you wanted. Home was supposed to be the place where you could close the doors and keep everyone the hell out. But not the Banes house. Oh no, never their house. The Banes house, aside from serving its actual purpose of being the living residence of Chase and Mikaela Banes, also happened to be everyone else's home-away-from-home. Some of the little bastards even treated it like a club house.

Ignoring Chase's less-than-stellar greeting, Will went on to say, "You locked the front door, you know? We had to come around the back to get in." As if walking around the house was such a chore.

Leaning against the door frame into the kitchen, Chase pulled a face. "Sam must have locked it when he came in last night."

"Tell him to stop doing that," Will replied, flipping to the next page of the paper- Sports section. He then reached for his bagel and took a bite, as comfortable as if he were in his own house. He didn't bother asking if either Sam or Mikaela were coming down; he knew they weren't.

"Sure, I'll get right on that. It's at the top of my list to tell Sam to stop being such a neurotic ass," Chase snorted- loud enough that Maggie gave a start, her head jerking up. Beneath her head laid her precious laptop in its leather case, acting as her makeshift pillow.

"Huh-? Time to go?" the techie asked dazedly.

"No. Go back to sleep, Mags," Chase commanded, rolling her eyes.

Will glanced at his watch. "We still have twenty minutes before we have to leave."

Nodding, Maggie went back to sleep. Her tea silently turned lukewarm in the eco-friendly canister next to her head.

Chase eyed the back of Will's head with a narrow-eyed glare. "Anything else you want to add to my list?"

"You're out of coffee," Robert Epps suddenly announced from where he stood at the long length of counters wrapping around the kitchen. He shook the empty tin of coffee beans to show exactly how out of coffee she was. "You might wanna get more."

One dark brow arched. Tattooed arms crossed over a sizable chest. "You can get coffee any damn place; why the hell you gotta drink mine?" Not to be picky, but that had been her last can of beans sent down from her home up North. Who knew when she'd get more?

"It tastes better here," Epps shrugged, sipping from his mug. Everything _always_ tasted better when someone else paid for it.

Eyeing the empty coffee pot sitting next to the sink, Chase's headache only seemed to get worse. "You didn't even save me any!"

Epps grinned, his white teeth a bright slash against his dark skin. "That just makes it taste better."

With a huff, Chase marched over and made a grab for Epps' mug. He was the only one who drank his coffee straight black like her. He avoided her first grab, but lost on the second. Not caring that the drink was still steaming hot, Chase downed half of it before she could be stopped. She then handed it back with a grin. Epps pouted for all of a minute, but then shrugged and went back to sipping the rest. Sharing accidental spit in a cup was the least of his problems.

"You're all on shift this week?" Chase asked, hoisting herself up onto the counter next to the sink. She motioned for Epps to toss her an apple from the fruit bowl next to his elbow, which he promptly did.

"Yeah, decided to carpool. I got called in a day early, but what the hell- practically live there anyways," Epps replied. EDC shifts ran for a week long, agents taking up residence on base in the human quarters for the duration of the shift. They were then granted two to three days off between shifts. It was hardcore for some humans, but it mostly helped in working with the Autobots, whose schedules still generally ran by the longer-incremented Cybertronian time.

"Cool," Chase nodded, biting into her newly shined apple.

Epps eyed the bottle next to her thigh warily. "You planning on doing something with that?" he wondered, jerking his chin to the object of his enquiry.

"Huh?" Chase glanced down, having forgotten about her bottle of absinthe. "Oh yeah, Hound left it for me." She grabbed it by the neck and held it out. "Throw it in the liquor cabinet, will you? It's gonna be for special occasions."

Grabbing it, Epps turned away to slip into the dining room where the liquor cabinet was. He was not yet far enough away when he murmured, "Hound's always a special occasion," under his breath.

Will indiscreetly choked/laughed on the last bite of his bagel.

"Dare you to say that to my face, Epps!" Chase called after him.

Epps reappeared in the kitchen, minus a bottle of absinthe. "You heard me, Banes- you and Hound, sitting on a balcony, K-I-S-S-I-N-_Ouch!_" He jumped away as a half-eaten apple rebounded off his forehead.

"You're an ass," Chase grumped. Then she pointed at her apple rolling along the floor. "And you just made me ruin my breakfast."

Will reached down, snatched the apple from under his seat and tossed it to Epps, who rinsed it under cold tap water. He held it out for her.

"You're the one who threw it at me, genius," he teased.

Taking the bruised fruit back, Chase bit into it mulishly, chewed, and then said with her mouth full- _"shut up"_- managing to spray the guy with little chunks of masticated apple flesh.

"Could you be any more unflattering in the morning?" Will laughed, finally folding his paper away and turning in his chair to be part of the fun.

Chase shrugged, wiping her mouth with the side of her hand. "I could come down here in my underwear."

"Been there, seen that," Epps snorted, brushing off apple bits from his shirt.

"Then I guess I'll just have to come down naked next time," Chase laughed.

Epps and Will collectively shuddered in playful horror.

Chase charmingly presented them with the middle fingers of both hands. Once sure they got the message, she leaned over to turn up the radio softly murmuring in the corner under the cabinets. Familiar voices played from the speakers as the volume came up. As part of his rehabilitation, Blaster had gone back to his roots and started hosting a radio show on his own station, co-hosted/managed by several others, including a few ex-symbiotes of his and a human friend, Carly Walker. The station was an interesting mix of familiar and strange, which generally made for good listening.

At the moment, it sounded like the Blaster and Carly Morning Show was in full swing. At any moment, they were going to start playing Earth vs. Cybertron, a funny little contest they played every Friday where they competed in challenges sent in by listeners. Last week it had been to count Pi to 20 decimal places. This week it was...

"_A spitting contest?" _Blaster exclaimed. _"Come on! I don't even have spit!" _

"_I win by default!" _Carly cheered. _"More points for Earth!" _

"_No way! I'll figure something out! I am not letting my species down!"_Blaster whined- and to give him time to think, he played Chris Brown's "Forever" in the interim.

"It gets dumber every week," Chase said with a roll of her eyes. She'd been hoping to hear the news.

"It helps keep the little guy sane, so you can't really fault him for having fun with what he does," Will shrugged. "It gives him a break from working with the Autobots."

"Anyone would need a break after working with _them_," Chase reasoned, pulling a face.

"You're preachin' to the choir, sister," Epps grunted.

They chatted for a little while longer while the radio continued to host Blaster's trials against Carly in a spitting contest. The microbot had ended up improvising by pressurizing one of his lubricant lines and making it spray out his mouthplates; the sounds translated through the radio from the effort had been truly disgusting. It hadn't been so much "projectile" as it had been "_oh my god, it's everywhere_!". In the end, Carly won a point for humanity with her stellar six foot launch of projectile saliva.

Will then glanced down at his watch. "It's getting late. We should get going." He began to rise from the table, collecting his dishes to put away in the sink.

Chase hopped down from the counter and stretched. "Yeah, I better go open up shop before someone starts blaring their horn." Halfway to the door, she asked, "You mind driving Leo in, too? I think he had a late night with Raoul. He's probably still asleep."

"Yeah, sure. You go get him while we get Mags into the car," Epps said, starting to nudge the techie's side. "Mags, sweetheart, time to go to work..."

Grunting her reply, Chase slipped out the back door and around the side, heading for the nondescript garage nearby. Stopping by the side door, she flicked open a sedate black box on the wall and typed in a code. Instead of unlocking any security system she might have on the building (which she didn't bother to have), the code actually dropped the hologram that hid her house from prying eyes. It was the closest thing to a "We're Open" sign as she'd get.

Slipping up a discreet set of stairs, she came to a slightly-crooked wooden door at the top that lead into the loft-apartment lived in by Raoul Mendez, who Chase liked to think of as her personal Mexican man-slave. In truth, he was just a runaway who managed to hop the border into the United States of America, only to discover the land of dreams didn't always live up to its reputation. Desperate for money, Raoul had come upon a car with the intention of jacking it for money. Tracks had not appreciated the effort. At a loss of what to do with the human, Tracks had dragged him back to the Banes, where Mikaela had vouched to keep him. Chase had agreed... eventually. There were enough aliens constantly roaming around, so keeping an illegal one wasn't going to make much of a difference.

Pushing open the door to the small apartment, Chase managed her way through the dim setting. It was just a one-room kind of deal, small and low-ceilinged with the bare-essentials for furniture and a bathroom just big enough to fit a human body. Nestled under one of the large, slanting windows was a rumpled mattress with tangled sheets and a pair of bodies cuddled into each other.

First wandering over to the kitchenette setup to throw some bread into the toaster, Chase then wandered to the corner of the mattress and proceeded to kick it with the toe of her boot.

"Hey! Heyyyyyyyyy! Wake up! Leo, wake up!" She bent down and grabbed the nearest ankle sticking out from under the sheets, shaking it. "Wake up, stupid. You're gonna miss your ride."

With a gasp, the ankle jerked away and a head of dark, curly hair shot up from the pillows. Wide eyes took one look at Chase, got unbelievably wider, and then disappeared underneath the sheets. A squeal filled the loft. "Oh my god! Don't you knock? This is totally an invasion of privacy!"

Chase straightened, one eyebrow arching. "What privacy? I own this place."

"We're _naked_!" Leo howled.

"It's not like I haven't seen a naked man before," Chase shrugged, sounding casual.

Raoul groaned and rolled over, staring up at Chase with sleepy black eyes. "_Buenos días_," he greeted in sleep-rough Spanish, and then leaned over to lay a light kiss to Leo's shoulder. Leo laughed awkwardly, unable to take his eyes off Chase's looming form.

"Now's not the time, Raoul," Leo begged, pushing his lover away.

"That's not what you said last night," Raoul replied teasingly.

Chase rolled her eyes. "Do I really want to hear what he said last night?"

"It was very sexy," Raoul informed her, his dark eyes shining.

"Raoul!" Leo howled, almost withering.

"And I am _so_ not interested," Chase informed flatly.

Raoul and Leo... They were as different from each other as two people could get. One was from a rich family, used to having everything in life that money could buy except for, you know, love. The other was from a good family, but money had been tight and sometimes they barely scraped by. What they had in common was family problems. Leo had left to find out what life was really like, and Raoul had left because he knew his family wouldn't approve of his... lifestyle choices. Being able to relate and lament together helped solidify their blossoming relationship.

It also helped that they were both gayer than a sparkly rainbow flag flying from a unicorn's back.

"Get dressed, both of you," Chase ordered dryly. "Will's heading out in a few minutes if you want to catch a ride, Leo. Raoul, you're with me downstairs."

Without giving them the option to argue, she turned her back on them and wandered back to the toaster just in time for the toast to pop. Making sure to give the pair enough time to dress, she buttered the toast and slapped on some peanut-butter for added flavour. As an afterthought, she grabbed a banana, too. Turning back around, Leo was wildly trying to button up the shirt he had been wearing the day before at the same time he was trying to get the zipper to his slacks up. Raoul was standing to the side in his underwear, scratching his chest sedately.

"That's really pathetic," Chase commented as Leo finally settled on doing his zipper up first and then rapidly buttoning his shirt. He was barely twenty-three, no taller than five-foot-six, and built thin and quick like a whip. Fresh from graduating from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Maggie had scooped him up to be her assistant before any big name tech company could steal him. The only downside was he was a little high-strung. "Here, something to eat." She shoved the toast and fruit into his hands and shoved him out the door just as Will's car horn blared.

"Don't I get toast?" Raoul asked, still standing around in his underwear.

Chase held up a fist. "I'll give you a knuckle-sandwich if you don't get dressed."

"Not that hungry," Raoul replied, promptly heading into the tiny bathroom for a shower.

Listening for the door to lock and the water to turn on, Chase then let herself out of the loft and down into the main garage area. The voluminous space was big enough to fit several Cybertronians looking to get their alt modes pampered, and open enough that Chase's footsteps echoed through it as she walked. It was a little gloomy with the lights off, mixed with the permeating scents of gasoline, dirt, metal, and engine grease. It also had a secondary smell almost completely subsumed by the others, but it was there nonetheless. The Autobots, strangely enough, had their own strange smell. They smelled like average cars most of the time, but sometimes a whiff of something not-quite-Earthy hung around them. A smell that was hard to pin down, but you could smell it anyways. It made you think of the way stars in the night sky might smell like if you could smell them. Tools of her trade hung against the walls and took up space along the floor.

Like every morning when she came in to open shop, she took a moment to stand back and really admire what had become of her life. Before the Autobots, she'd been what? In a good job, sure, but it didn't pay for much. She and Mikaela lived together like familial strangers. And she'd been on a one-way track to the bottom of a bottle she wouldn't have been able to swim her way out of. And now? She and Mikaela owned a garage for themselves, worked to their own schedules; they didn't earn great money, but they made a living they were happy with. They had something they never dreamt of having in a million years; they had a family again. As for drinking habits... well, miracles didn't happen every day, but at least she was better than before.

Chase was snapped out of her reverie when there came a muffled "meep-meep" from beyond the front door, which then swung open to admit one human-sized silver transformer. He quickly scurried around to the larger garage doors and went about pulling them up for when other Cybertronians arrived. Once done, he scurried to the wall where a pair of modified overalls hung for his use, tailored to fit his longer-than-average limbs and slightly-inhuman shape. He shimmied into them with the grace of a newborn foal.

Chase leaned back against a pillar and watched curiously. It took a minute for the little bot to realize he wasn't alone. He flicked on the lights, caught sight of Chase lurking in the middle of the room, and jumped back in surprise with a classic, "_Meep!_"

"Good morning to you too, Tungsten," Chase drawled. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh- um, good morning, Chase! Good morning! I wasn't ignoring you, I swear! I didn't know you were there..." Tungsten laughed nervously. He had a very high voice, beyond the range any human could naturally have. When nervous, he tended to squeak. He was also a jumpy, fidgety thing- but most people assumed that was from being blown up so many times working with Wheeljack. "Um... so, fancy running into you here, huh?"

"I work here."

The microbot's optics flashed as he squeaked more laughter. "Oh! Right, right, you work here... my bad..." He was now tugging on his overalls. "Kind of wasn't thinking about- you know... just slipped my mind... I should- I should have Ratchet check my memory files, huh?" There was more of that laughter. His long, spindly fingers twitched about.

Chase pushed away from the pillar, coming to stand by him. They were almost the same height, if one didn't count the ex-drone's cranial crests, which jutted up from his head a few inches. Despite being taller, stronger, and heavily armoured, Tungsten backed down as Chase approached. Poor thing was intimidated so easily.

"You never told me why you were here, Tungy. You gonna give me a reason?" Chase pressed, getting a kick out of the jumpy little bot. He was impossible not to like.

The fiasco with the Cybertronians trying to find out if sparks were possible with the Allspark as a human hadn't turned out very well. Sam had ended up in a coma for six months. For a while, it had seemed like he would never wake up at all. After that, it had been decided it was too much of a risk to Sam's life to try anything remotely as dangerous as summoning sparks. And yet, a spark _had_ been formed that day, so it hadn't been a complete failure. Tungsten's frame had been ready, so the spark became his. If his origins had been any kind of indication of what kind of bot the little drone would become, Tungsten turned out to be a bit of a strange bot. Okay, he was _a lot_ of a strange bot. He had more quirks than New Zealand had sheep.

Aside from his quirks, though, he was generally a very sweet mech.

Currently, he was also very flustered. "You see, um, well, Sam got in last night, didn't he? And see... I thought Mikaela would- um, like the day of to, ah... spend it with him. And since I wasn't working with Wheeljack, I thought, well, I'd come here and cover her shift... if that was okay with you." He peered up at her with the biggest, most luminous optics ever to be stuck in the faceplate of a robot. "It's okay with you, right?"

Who could say no to a face like that?

"Fine, do what you want. God forbid you actually have a real day off instead of coming over here and wasting it working," Chase sighed. She said no more as she heard footsteps coming down from above. Raoul came into sight not long after, his black hair still wet and his work clothes a bit rumpled. In his late-twenties, he wasn't a bad looking guy; darkly tanned skin, black eyes, and an easy smile.

"_¡Buenos días_, Raoul!" Tungsten chirped merrily in perfect Spanish the moment he spotted the other human.

"_Buenos días,_ Tungsten," Raoul chuckled good-naturedly. "Working here today, are you?"

"I am now!"

Raoul slid a curious glance to Chase. He knew the schedule; he knew Tungsten wasn't on it.

"Don't look at me," Chase snorted. "Tungsten, you're working on the Volvo over there." She nodded to the maroon car near the end of the shop. "Mikaela was going to install its parts today, but since you're filling in for her-."

"I'm on it!" He cheerfully saluted her and trotted off to his designated task.

"Raoul, Tracks is coming in this morning for detailing. You're looking after him or I'll end up shoving a broomstick up his exhaust pipe again," Chase sighed.

"No problem," Raoul intoned, having no issue with the directive. He and Tracks got along relatively well.

"And that leaves me with..." She wandered over to desk in the corner where their ledger laid with everyone's times. "Aw, shit."

Right on cue, a grey-blue blur came skidding into the garage. "I'm so sorry I'm late! I didn't mean to get held up! Just as I was getting off the base, Miles invited me to do a little bit of morning Tai Chi with him. I couldn't really say no, since I haven't done it with him for a while. I thought I had enough time, so I stuck around. But then I didn't realize how late it was getting until Prowl pointed it out to me. And then I might have panicked a little- okay, I panicked a lot. I know you hate when people are late for their appointments, because it throws off the rest of your day, but I tried really hard to be here on time! I swear I did! I broke all kinds of speed limits to get here!" Bluestreak then tucked his aft close to the ground, protecting his exhaust pipe. "Please don't sodomize me with a broomstick."

And Chase's headache was back with a vengeance. What a shitty way to start the day.

"I won't get the broom if you shut up," she drawled, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

Bluestreak wiggled on his shocks. "Okay! I can do that! I can totally shut up! I will be absolutely silent during the whole ordeal. You won't hear a peep out of me! Not a sound! I will be so mute, you'll think I was a real Earth-car!"

Raoul started laughing in the background.

"_Why_ do I put up with you people?" Chase groaned. It was cosmic punishment, wasn't it?

"Because you secretly love us," a female voice suddenly intoned, and then Mikaela appeared in the garage via the side door. She was dressed for work, though her cheeks were still flushed and her eyes bright. A series of dark bruise-like spots dotted her neck, their vividness dulled by the layer of makeup she'd smudged over them. Despite the makeup, they were still clearly visible. Sam must have been _very_ enthusiastic to see her.

"What are you doing here?" Chase asked blankly.

"I work here, remember?" Mikaela replied, rolling her eyes.

"No you don't."

"Yes I do."

Chase crossed her arms over her chest. "Not today, you don't."

Mikaela's eyes narrowed, hands moving to her hips. "I wrote the schedule, remember? I think I'd know when I work."

"I guess you thought wrong, kiddo. You don't work today," Chase intoned, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "It's your day off. Go back to bed."

Bluestreak subtly started to back up, trying to put a safe distance between himself and the Banes women. You could never be too careful.

Mikaela stared disbelievingly for several long moments, and then asked, "Are you drunk?"

It was Chase's turn to look disgruntled. "No, I'm _not_ drunk."

"How can I be sure?" Mikaela drawled suspiciously.

"Smell her breath," Raoul offered.

"Ewwwwww," Mikaela whined. "I'll pass."

Chase glared. "Tungsten!"

"Yes, ma'am!" squeaked the bot.

"Scan me! Tell her I haven't had a drop!"

Blue light flashed. "She's right," Tungsten squeaked helpfully a moment later. "She hasn't been drinking."

Bluestreak quickly put in his own scan results.

Satisfied by the Autobots' assurances, Mikaela settled back, staring at Chase, who stared back unblinkingly.

"You're up to something, I know it," Mikaela suddenly said.

Both brows arched in mock incredulity. "I'm not up to anything."

"We'll see about that." Mikaela turned back for the door where the schedule was posted on the wall. From behind her came a brief whine, and then a plume of heat rushed over her shoulder. A dart of super-heated plasma suddenly incinerated her neatly-written work schedule. With a gasp of surprise and outrage, she caught Tungsten with his arm still raised.

"Tungsten!" the younger Banes shrieked.

Both his hands shot up in surrender. "My hand slipped!"

Raoul doubled over laughing.

Chase snorted, making a mental note to thank Tungsten later- and make him repair the scorched crater in her wall. To Mikaela, she offered a teasing grin. "Would you look at that- no schedule. I guess you can go back to the house, to your bed, and stay there. All day. Doing whatever you want. It's not like we need you here."

It finally dawned on the younger woman what was happening. Her outrage morphed into a grin that lit up her whole face. "Really?"

Chase shrugged. "Tungsten can cover you."

There came a squeal, and suddenly Chase found herself trapped in a hug. A tight hug. Kind of annoying really, but Mikaela was family, so what could you do? She let it go on for a few seconds, and then extricated herself. "Alright, alright, go already. Save it for Sam, will you?"

"Thanks, Chase. You suck for not just telling me in the first place, but thanks." Her smile was excited as she turned to go, eagerly trotting for the door.

Chase watched her go, grinning. "You're welcome!" she yelled, and then added, "By the way, nice hickeys, Mickey! You look like a leopard!"

Through the walls came Mikaela's gasp. _"Oh my God, you super-suck!" _

Chase laughed, deciding that today wasn't going to be so bad after all.


	10. To Worry and To Hope

Alrighty, this chapter is a bit of a slow one at the start, but hopefully it gets cute by the end. ^_^ Not a lot of time to say more since I have about a _billion_ other things I have to do for school. So… I hope you enjoy yourselves~ Review to spread the love! =)

**CNightJoy- **Incorporating the different characters from different TF universes was such a blast. I'm glad you got a kick out it. ^_^ Wheeljack is indeed happy about Tungsten being alive now- kind of like the robot version of Pinocchio! =P As for Chase and Hound… I think they will always be stuck chasing and hounding each other, never quite sure or brave enough to do anything more unless something _drastic_ happens. ^_^;

**Renegadewriter8- **lol~ Blaster with a radio show is a very epic thing. =P As for Prowl and Jazz, they'll appear when they're ready to appear. ^_^

**Dazja**- Haha, if Chase made it that easy for herself, then she wouldn't be the Chase we all love to be frustrated with. =P

**Phoebe Turner**- Thanks so much~ You're too kind. :)

**Flameshield**- Yep, Tungy has a life now- he's the robot version of Pinocchio! =P Yeah, Sam did not exactly appreciate it when he woke up six months later after getting Tungsten's spark and realized he'd been deadlocked for that long. Not a pleasant thing. =(

**GBScientist**- *shrugs* It's the slow moments in life that help keep you sane when life tends to fly by at the speed of light.

**Bluebird Soaring**- Awwwww, my dear, you may say you love me as much as you want! XD To tell you the truth, I was rather excited to introduce Tungsten in the last chapter to see how you would react. =P Let me tell you, Tungsten is among one of the most adorable, quirky creatures this side of the moon; I'm so glad you like him! =) You're honestly an amazing reader, especially for your honest patience and interest in characters like Tungsten and Chase. Especially Chase, who even I want to throw through a wall sometimes. XD It's so heartening to read one of your reviews~ Thank you so much for reading and taking the time to review~

**Chloo**- Internet and real love you say? The non-creepy variety? Sure, I'll take it! I'll wallow in it like a pig in mud on a hot summer day! 8D And let me tell you, girl, I _adore_ you right now. Your review just about put me in a happiness-induced coma! XD I didn't think anyone would really warm up to Leo & Raoul… I think your review of them totally made it worth it. =P Oh, and then there's Tungsten, the overall-wearing spaz-bot who's the robot version of Pinocchio. XD Yep, he does wear overalls, and when there's a fancy (human) occasion that he's invited to, he dresses up in either tuxedos or dresses- it all depends on what he's in the mood for and what would look best with his date. =P Being with the humans has given him a couple of very _strange_ quirks. ^^;

**TransformersLover95**- Believe me, my friend, you are not the only one who wants to yell at Chase and Hound. They're both so stubborn, it's ridiculous. ^_^; Sadly, I don't think I can turn my stories into a movie… something about crazy copyright laws or whatnot. But, I do happen to have an amazing illustrator (FunkyFish1991) on DeviantART who brings the stories to life with her art. =)

**Balrog Roike**- Right you are, my dear- Wheeljack is rather happy to finally be able to talk to Tungsten and have the little bot answer back for real. ^_^ Your insight into Chase and Hound's (non)relationship is astounding- truly, unless something drastic happens, I think they'll always be stuck chasing and hounding each other. ^_^;

**DramaStar-Mel**- Haha, I'm glad you enjoyed the "family" side of things. Since a lot has happened since _As We Come Together_, I figured it was only fair to show the readers some of the stuff going on now. Tungsten is one great big bundle of jumpy nerves and love! =P

**Violet**- Awww, thanks so much~ You're too kind. =)

Shout out to **FunkyFish1991** for giving this chapter the once over like she was eyeing a naughty stripper in a dirty Italian strip club, and then giving it her approval. You're awesome, Fish! =D

Lastly: this chapter is dedicated to my mind, which I happened to have lost recently. -_-

**May We Never Let Go  
****To Worry and to Hope**

Optimus sat peacefully in his section of the Solarium, which doubled as a secondary office whenever he felt like sticking close to his sparkmate. His desk and all the usual accouterments of administrative duties were tucked demurely away amongst the overwhelming greenery, shielded from the main activity of the room by a thick green curtain of climbing vines clinging to a wall of wooden lattice work. There wasn't much privacy, but it was a sacrifice Prime could easily make.

With the morning now in full bustle, despite it being a Saturday, the base was full of all sorts of activity. Thankfully, he faced away from the main base so he wouldn't be as distracted as he could be if he could watch the comings and goings of everyone. Overhead, planes and helicopters came and went on their own schedules while cars and trucks revved, hummed, and clunked along. Nearby, humans filled every corner of the base. He could hear them as a very dull murmuring in the background. Occasionally he could make out a word or two; there were languages from all over the world. The humans were of every kind of nationality and ethnicity; their pay cheques paid by a number of different employers.

Some happened to be military personnel rotated in and out from various governments to show "goodwill" between the countries of Earth and the Cybertronians. They offered time and manpower that the EDC and Autobots couldn't really turn down. No one mentioned the real reason that delegations of military personnel came in and out, which was mostly so international governments could keep an eye on the aliens. It wasn't worth wasting time or breath on the issue. While they made up a significant portion of the human population of base, they were not the majority.

EDC agents held the monopoly on base, much to the relief of some bots and the annoyance of others. They were among the least jumpy of the humans, and certainly among the ones who treated the Cybertronians as if they were no different from anyone else. However, there were still quite a few agents who clung to their Sector Seven days, much like Simmons did, and that did nothing but cause frazzled nerves. What was most interesting about the EDC agents was that a significant percentage of them actually boasted of alien ancestry; the majority were human-alien hybrids, but a couple full-bloods lurked about. Their presence on base served to make the Cybertronians feel a little less alone in the alien department.

And then there were business coordinators from all different sects of the global economy- the capitalist parasites that they were. Some were welcomed on the base and some were very lucky they hadn't been stepped on yet. But, of course, that was simply business. Although loath to admit it, the Autobots owed much of their flourishing accounts to their dealings with human industries.

All of that activity, of course, was being relegated to background noise as Optimus Prime concentrated on his work.

Or, to be more accurate, as he _attempted _to concentrate.

Unfortunately, even as his desk called its siren song to begin work, Prime's mind was elsewhere. It was damnably difficult to concentrate on any one thing when there seemed to be a thousand other subjects clamouring for his attention. The dozen or so half-finished and barely started reports scattering Prime's desk were a testament to his distraction. Not even the calm atmosphere of the solarium was any help in soothing his racing mind. At the forefront of his distraction was the culmination of recent events; Sunstreaker's report, given but a few joors before, weighed heavily in his mind. While he did not worry as greatly for the twins or Hound, and to an extent he was not overly concerned for Sam, Bumblebee had taken precedence in his mind.

Bumblebee, who was a veteran of an ancient war and still so young at spark. That dear, sweet-sparked yellow minibot who had been forced through more things in his life than any other being had a right to live through. One couldn't help but wonder if his damages didn't run a little deeper than everyone else's. If they did, he hid it well. Even on the orn when Optimus had deigned to tell him of his origins, Bumblebee had taken the news so… _benignly_. He had been expectedly upset, but not to the extent that one would think normal. It had been as if the little scout had tucked it all away inside himself.

All this time, could Bumblebee have been covering up the symptoms of a much deeper problem?

Or was Optimus the one who was reading too much into Bumblebee's disturbed mood? Everyone was entitled to being upset once in a while, after all. And yet... without even seeing Bumblebee himself, Optimus felt that something was definitely not right. He could not blame his unease entirely on a creator's prerogative to be worried; after so long of denying any such bond, he was not sure if he was at all entitled to such a prerogative now. On that note, he wasn't sure he could resist feeling as he did when Elita One felt the same way, her concern compounding his.

"_Elita One,"_ he sighed, at a loss to know what to do with her.

He could feel her as she moved around base. Undercurrents of uncertainty, anxiety, a bit of trepidation, hinted at by the electric zing of fear. If he had to guess where she was at that very moment, it would be somewhere topside- near the med bay, but never _in_ the med bay. Had she somehow coaxed Bumblebee out of his mood and finally guided him to Ratchet? Or had she pushed herself too far going underground and was now in need of someone to talk to?

Out of concern, he reached out to her. In return, he was given hasty assurance that all was well. Her feelings of fear and anxiety soon abated. Optimus could not tell if it was because she had closed that part of their bond off to him, or if those particular feelings had been eased. There was distance in their bond that had not been there before, one that made it difficult at times to understand what the other was doing, thinking, or feeling. Where they had once been one, they were now… unsure of where they stood. Love was an undeniable fact, their devotion to each other eternal, but the intimacy they had once shared? It was not quite the same anymore.

Shockwave could be thanked for much of the physical damage. Elita's spark still bore the marks of her captivity, and it was beginning to look as if she would carry them for the rest of her life. But Shockwave, no matter how twisted he had been, could not be blamed for the entirety of Elita One's condition. Her mind had been broken at the hands of the Fallen. _The Fallen_, who had once been nothing more than a frightening story to tell in the dark, a myth that had faded in and out of fashion as time passed on. That impossible creature himself, in his seemingly endless capacity for torment, had apparently made it his goal in life not only break Elita but shatter her into a thousand pieces.

Shockwave may have been dead, but the Fallen still thrived like a festering wound. If he had been the extent of Optimus's worries, then perhaps, _perhaps_, things might have been okay. The beast seemed content in spreading anarchy and chaos, with no true dedication to destruction. Given enough time, something could have been contrived to defeat him. As the balance stood, however, Optimus, the Autobots, Decepticon-Neutrals, and Earth itself were held at the mercy of the master of the Fallen. Unicron, who devoured worlds, who contained power unimaginable, who possessed the rotted corpse of Megatron, held Earth and all its inhabitants at his mercy.

To be reduced to such a tenuous fate had long since taken its toll on Optimus. He was exhausted straight through to his spark. Hollowed out by ceaseless pressure, eroded so viciously from the inside out that the wind whistled through him coldly. The weight of his burdens dragged him down until his back bent and his faceplate dragged in the dirt. His armour felt thin now, his once powerful frame pitifully brittle.

And still Optimus worried. He could do nothing else, even as he was driven to distraction and felt the edges of stress give way into a kind of lonely madness every leader felt when the pressure of their station became too much.

When it became too much, Optimus hunched forward in his seat and let his faceplate fall into his upraised palms.

Was he forcing his people to fight against impossible odds? Of course he was.

Did he doom an innocent planet to destruction by involving the humans instead of leaving years ago? Most likely.

His vorns of training to become Prime had never prepared him for this.

There were so many things he had never been prepared for. War, for one thing. Cybertron had never suffered anything worse than a riot or two; at most, there might have been conflict between territories. Optimus had never imagined an orn would come when his own brother would turn against him. An orn when Cybertron would be ravaged. The Allspark destroyed, now handicapped in the form of a human.

If someone had mentioned to Optimus on the orn he became Prime that an orn would come when the whole universe would feel like it was stacked against him, he might have reconsidered taking the mantle of Prime.

Of course, how could anyone have known what the future would bring?

"It's not all doom and gloom, you know?" Elita One softly intoned, appearing at Optimus's side with no more noise made than a spirit. Her hand gently caressed along the side of his faceplate. She could feel the turmoil of his spark, summoned back to the Solarium by it.

"Dearspark." Optimus turned his faceplate into the touch, taking strength from it. "I should have been more aware of what I was transmitting; I shouldn't have troubled you with what I was feeling."

Elita's smile wavered for a moment, turning sad. "I'm your sparkmate, Optimus. We made the choice to shoulder burdens together the orn we chose to bond." Even though recently, bots tended to forget that she could shoulder anything at all.

"You have enough on your mind," Optimus countered, but it was a lacklustre argument to Elita and he felt her dislike of it.

Elita drew her hand away, taking a step back. Her optics, always so beautiful but sad, watched him with a stubborn light. "If you are referring to my debacle underground, then yes, it was an overwhelming experience," she admitted. "However, I am above ground now. When I brought Bumblebee to the med bay, I took the opportunity to speak with one of the doctors there. I am fine now. More than able to help you now."

Instead of bowing to her insistence, Optimus evaded. "How is Bumblebee doing now?"

Elita's mouthplates pressed into a thin line, seeing the change of subject for what it was. She allowed it, for now. "He is as fine as anyone can expect him to be," she said. "He's tired, hurt, scared, and confused. He knows what he is, but doesn't understand where he's from; he questions who he is because of that. This new bot, Nemesis, said things to him that made him question himself, and it frightened him."

Optimus bowed his head. "I never should have told him where he came from."

"And have him react even more badly when he did find out from some other source?" Elita shook her head. "Optimus, what he needs is to know is that he has family and friends who love and support him. Not to smother him, but to _support_ him." She paused, crossing her arms over her chassis. "For that matter, I could do with a little less coddling myself."

Optimus caught her stubborn gaze, frowning lightly. "Elita..."

"No, please let me say it," Elita cut in, bullying him into silence. "There is a fine line between support and smothering, and well-meaning Autobots have been crossing that line for years."

Optimus straightened, preparing to defend his Autobots.

Elita cut him off with a look. "I can stand on my own now, dearspark. I'll stumble, but I don't need the world to stop for everyone to pick me up again. I know how to pick myself up. I'm getting quite good at it." She reached out again, this time with both hands so that she cupped his faceplate. "I won't break if I help shoulder your burdens. That's what sparkmates are for. At least give me that courtesy instead of shutting me out."

Optimus gazed at his mate, love and more glowing in his optics. "And what of the burdens you carry?"

"You lighten my load by being here," she replied, smiling.

"Can that not apply to my burdens?" he enquired.

"No, you must share yours. Planets are too heavy to carry by yourself," Elita said matter-of-factly. "You have a terrible habit of brooding for long joors on end, and we have been apart too long for me to be able to stand it for long."

"A bad habit I have developed in your absence," Prime admitted ruefully.

"I recall you had a similar habit firmly in place long before I was kidnapped," Elita admonished lightly, her spark teasing against his. "Even then, you had a terrible habit of becoming so involved in all the troubles of the universe, you forgot you were only one bot." She gestured to the shining windows around them, dappled light shining in through the green leaves everywhere. Cast in the green-hued light of her paradise, Elita One looked ethereal. "I just had to remind Bumblebee not to forget of all the good things that surround him, must I also remind you?"

Optimus took her hand, bringing it to his mouthplates. Cybertronians didn't kiss like humans. Trying something like that would most likely end up with both parties getting locked together in a rather uncomfortable position. But there was still intimacy in the gesture of pressing his sparkmate's hand to his mouthplates. He met her gaze steadily, reaching out through their bond to bring her into an encompassing embrace, the essence of his spark surrounding hers.

"I am looking at the one good thing in my life that I could never forget," murmured the Prime, never taking his gaze from her.

Elita laughed gently, flattered. Even sitting down at his desk, he was much larger than she, requiring that Elita stretch to press her forehead to his. "You, my dearspark, are an incurable romantic."

"I believe it is one of my better habits," Optimus murmured, soaking in her closeness.

"One that I appreciate more and more," Elita admitted. "_However_," she backed away, using a finger under his chin to turn his head to the windows, "you mustn't forget that there is so much good _out there_, right along with the bad."

Optimus stared out into the desert. It was a wide expanse of red-hued dirt and sand, carpeted by rough, sparse brush and prickly plants. Nothing like the oasis they sat in, overflowing with life.

Seeing that her example was less than inspiring, Elita One released his chin and allowed him to return his gaze to her. "All right, I admit- I could have chosen a much more inspiring vista as an example," she said with a shake of her head. "You're just going to have to trust me that there is good out there."

"I know there is, dearspark," Optimus assured her. "It's not always easy to remember, but I promise I never forget."

Taking a step back, Elita took his hands with her, summoning him to rise. Completely at her command, Prime rose to his feet and watched his mate as she smiled up at him.

"I believe you need to get out of here for the day," she said. "Go out, walk around, and remind yourself of the good life you've built here for yourself and your people. It's far from perfect, but a perfect life would be a boring one." When Optimus's gaze strayed to the mountain of work beckoning to him from his desk, she tugged his hands. "_That_ can wait," she ordered.

"If you say so," Optimus sighed. It wasn't like he had been intensely focused on finishing it anyways. "Will you be joining me on this mission?"

Elita offered a small smile that made Optimus's spark flutter. "I was actually planning on driving out for the day and relaxing somewhere." And by 'somewhere' she meant finding the flattest, emptiest, most wide-open patch of desert she could find and laying there for the rest of the day to soak up solar energy, enjoying absolute freedom.

Understanding her need, Optimus nodded and gently brushed against their bond. She brushed back. They smiled.

"I'll be going, then," Elita announced, taking a step back. "I would have been gone as soon as I was done at the med bay, but your call was too strong." She met his gaze. "I love you, dearspark."

Without hesitation, Optimus replied, "I love you, too." As Elita started to turn to leave, Optimus quickly swooped in to take her hand. "Come, let's leave together. If we are to spend the day apart, then I want to savour the moments I have with you."

Elita's optics sparkled, her spark alive and dancing ephemerally against his. "Ever the romantic," she admonished playfully once again, but allowed herself to be escorted from the solarium.

They parted ways amiably at the door, Elita transforming into her sleek, rose-painted Cybertronian alt mode, while Optimus folded down into the highly recognizable form of a flame-painted semi-truck. Optimus did not start out right away, but lingered where he sat in order to watch his mate drive out into the desert plains. He suffered a moment of wishing to go with her, but had not shielded the desire from the femme. She didn't appreciate the urge to coddle, as she saw it, and instantly set him straight with a good astral-shove to get him moving in the other direction.

With a deep rev of his engine, Optimus started off on his quest to find the good that was "out there".

It was not long into his journey when he came upon a scene that might be construed as evidence of good... or simply evidence that even the most level-headed, logical mechs Optimus knew could be driven insane after so long on Earth.

Choosing to hang back so as not to draw attention to himself yet, Optimus watched as his current head tactical adviser and his ex-Special Ops commander smoothly moved through the motions of tai chi. They were not alone in the open courtyard. Around their feet were at least two dozen humans, mostly EDC agents, who were starting their day off with some meditative movements. Among them was the recognizable form of Miles Lancaster, his cybernetic eye glowing especially bright as he stood in Jazz's shadow.

As one, the group moved gracefully from one form to another. Prowl and Jazz, easily standing over ten feet taller than any other figure in the yard, were the most noticeable. They made a handsome pair together. Their resume of skills had always been complimentary to each other, but they were also a visually appealing sight. Prowl's glossy black-and-white paint stood out brightly against the subtle, sleek sheen of Jazz's silver armour. They moved as one, both looking at peace. Their movements were perfectly timed to each other, Prowl undoubtedly transmitting the sequence of movements to Jazz so the blind mech could keep up without having to ask aloud.

Tai chi had not been either mech's idea. It had been a suggestion made to Prowl (several times) to help him relax, since according to several human doctors, he had an acute stress disorder brought on by his disturbingly intense A-type personality complex. Reluctant at first- to the point where Optimus thought he would have to step in and make the suggestion an order- it had been Jazz who solved the dilemma one morning. All he had done was indicate to Prowl that he wanted to join the morning tai chi group, but required another Cybertronian present to help him since he wasn't be able to follow along visually like everyone else. After that, there had been no objections from Prowl.

Despite the fact that it was his guilt for being the reason his lover was trapped in his current condition- blinded in a way that could never be cured- Prowl now appeared to truly be enjoying himself. He was at peace in a way that was rare for a mech like him.

Jazz, for that matter, did not look so much like a trapped animal like he normally did. Although he could hide his blindness well, he did not always deal with the handicap it gave him very well. He had gone from one of the most capable warriors of the Autobot forces, to one who could not be used for reconnaissance or engaging the enemy; the stress of being trapped with menial desk work had nearly driven him to the brink several times.

Optimus continued to watch as the session came to a calm end. The humans slowly dispersed, either on their way to begin their shifts or wander off for breakfast. Prowl gave himself a good shake, even allowing his doorwings a good flap to stretch them, before reaching for his lover's hand. It had been an unthinking gesture, not one of affection that most people might have assumed it to be, but one meant to guide Jazz away. Jazz bristled, snatching his hand away.

"Ah can find mah own way," said the saboteur, easily making his way out of the courtyard with use of his proximal sensors and magnetic pulses used like echolocation.

Prowl was left alone for a moment, watching Jazz's back. He dropped his gaze to his empty hand, sighed, and then left the courtyard for his own duties.

Optimus sank onto his axles with a sigh. All was not well in paradise. It hadn't been well in a while, but sometimes one could hope...

Carefully backing out of his hiding place, Prime merged back onto the street and continued on his way, a little more disheartened than he had been before. Coming onto the main street of base, a giant black Topkick came up alongside him. His company had very little concern for the oncoming traffic he was now blocking, allowing everyone else to swerve out of the way. If Optimus wasn't mistaken, Ironhide actually had his radio on, discreetly bobbing along to the music. Witnessing such a sight was... slightly disturbing. Optimus had to strongly resist the urge to enquire if his best friend happened to be possessed by the Fallen. Instead, he said:

"You're in an unusually good mood."

"I am," Ironhide replied immediately, sounding cheerful even through the private channel.

"Care to share the secret to your good mood?"

Ironhide slowed for a moment as if surprised, then picked up to be even with Optimus again. "You don't know?"

Optimus took a moment to think of anything that might constitute a good mood for Ironhide: his guns or his sparkmate. Since neither of those things seemed to fit this situation, Optimus decided to answer in the negative. "I'm sorry, I don't... Is there something happening today?"

"There is," Ironhide replied. "I'm surprised you don't know- I'm quite sure you gave your permission for it months ago."

"Permission for...?" Now Optimus checked his memory files in earnest for any indication of anything significant scheduled for today. Unfortunately, either he had forgotten to log it, misfiled it somehow, or it had gotten lost in the mountain of other concerns he faced.

"Obviously you've forgotten," Ironhide huffed.

Optimus revved. "How about you remind me?" They stopped at an intersection, Ironhide taking the lead ahead of Optimus. He put his blinker on, indicating that Prime should follow him. They turned down the appropriate road, and then Ironhide dropped back so he was side-by-side with Optimus again.

"Come with me, instead. You will enjoy the distraction, I am sure of it," the weapons specialist offered, a little too eager with the invitation.

Optimus was quiet for a moment, suddenly suspicious. "Did Elita put you up to this?"

The Topkick's engine sputtered. "No, of course not-!"

"You're a terrible liar, Ironhide," Optimus pointed out flatly.

Ironhide growled. "All right, she might have mentioned something, but it's not like she had to twist my arm. She's not the only one concerned about you."

"I am fine," Optimus assured.

"Oh yes, as fine as any of us," Ironhide drawled.

"I'll pretend you're not insulting the mental condition of every Cybertronian on base," Optimus replied. "There are many things on my mind, my friend. And unfortunately for me, they are things that can't simply be ignored."

"I'm not saying to _ignore_ them, Prime," Ironhide rumbled, disgruntled.

"Then what _are_ you saying?"

"What I'm saying is..." The Topkick snorted loudly, frustration evident. "Look, Optimus, I have been by your side for a long time. I respected your rule when we were on Cybertron, and I trust your commands in this war, but you and I both know you become far too wrapped up in brooding over the negative."

"Elita just mentioned something like that to me," Optimus intoned ruefully.

"She's a smart bot. Smarter than most, and she's right," Ironhide replied. "I've watched you bury yourself underneath mountains of concerns, but I never said a thing about it because you were a good Prime. That was the way you dealt with things. But now?" He snorted. "I'm not going to let you do that slag to yourself anymore. We're all fighting the same enemy, so this is no time to be singling yourself out."

Optimus was stunned into silence by the honesty of the impassioned speech. He was stunned anew by the fact that it was from _Ironhide _of all bots. Not that Ironhide wasn't an intelligent mech, but he often kept most of his intelligent thoughts to himself. He must have had that speech bottled up for a while.

Once the shock of the moment wore off, Optimus saw the reason behind the words. He sagged in submission. "You're right."

Ironhide puffed up haughtily. "I know I am."

"And humble about it, too," Optimus said wryly. "You're a true friend, Ironhide. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

They stopped at another intersection, silent for the length of time it took for the lights to change. As soon as they had a green, they started forward. Optimus decided to try to find out what this distraction he was attending was supposed to be.

"So, of this mysterious event you are taking me to... what is it?"

"Find out for yourself," Ironhide laughed, his good mood slowly returning.

"Are you planning on shooting anything?" Prime enquired curiously.

"I wouldn't dream of it, not for this," Ironhide replied honestly.

That scratched off several options for what this possible distraction could be.

"Is there the possibility of something blowing up?" Optimus asked.

"As far as I know, Wheeljack isn't showing up," Ironhide chuckled.

And yet another list of possibilities was gone... Although it was a relief to know that no damage control for unruly explosions was going to be necessary.

"Then I give up, please tell me what's happening," Optimus insisted.

"You don't get off that easy, Prime. Just come and you'll find out." Picking up the pace, Ironhide once again slipped ahead and guided Prime through the base.

To Optimus's surprise, he was guided into the sprawling sector of their large base that served as the humans' living quarters during their week-long shifts. The sector itself was treated much like the Cybertronians treated their underground refuge; it was a place where the human could retreat from the rigors of their day and be human. The entire sector was a fair sized area bordering the outer perimeter of base, boasting of amenities appropriate for human comfort. Apartment buildings stood next to squat barracks; while the barracks existed for the rotating staff, there were permanent residents on base, such as Sam himself, who took up the more spacious apartments. Familiar human businesses took up space in discreet corners- a coffee shop, indoor and outdoor movie theatres, a small post office, and even a grocery mart. A microcosm of human life. By nature of it being so very human, the human sector was not a place Ironhide normally went without good reason. With that in mind, the mystery of why he _was_ there became even more tantalizing.

They drove into one of the parking lots nearest the outer border, gaining an unfettered view of the dry, sparse plains stretching out around them. In the lot they arrived in, an Autobot was already sitting demurely in his alt mode, which happened to be a light blue Corvair dune buggy. Beachcomber could not possibly be the reason for Ironhide's detour into the human sector. It was a well-known fact that Ironhide and Beachcomber avoided each other on principle. However, there also happened to be two humans present. One was a woman in her early thirties, blond hair drawn back into a smart ponytail, a trim dun-coloured pantsuit donned for the occasion, and a PDA perched in her palm. By her attitude and dress, she worked for Public Relations- and was not as cavalier with her fashions as Miles tended to be. The other human happened to be Will.

Will saw them coming and hailed them with a wave. "Come to see show, did you?" the human teased, mostly directing his teasing to Ironhide. "I knew you wouldn't be able to resist."

"She called last night and asked if I would come to see her; I couldn't very well tell her no," Ironhide huffed, trying to sound as if he were very put off by coming. No one believed him, not when he looked fresh from the wash racks, his midnight black armour polished to a fine shine. He was looking to impress someone. "Have you been here long?"

"Nah, just got here a little while ago. It feels like I never left this place, though," Will laughed, trotting over to pat Ironhide's flank. "But don't go changing the subject, 'Hide. You spoil her and you know it."

"I do not!" the weapons specialist grouched.

"Spoil who?" Optimus enquired, now intensely curious to find out what was happening. He now had a sneaking suspicion of what might be happening, since there was only one being in the universe Ironhide like to spoil and had the hardest time saying no to. Optimus kept his suspicions to himself for the time being.

"Here they come," Beachcomber suddenly announced. He sounded excited, much more transparent about his feelings than Ironhide ever was. His hologram flickered to life, which happened to be a tall, handsome Asian man. Like most holograms, he was a little too flawless to be completely believable; he boasted of the official EDC uniform, straightening it needlessly. He then spared a glance to his alt mode to make sure he was presentable in that form as well. Normally a laid back bot, sometimes to the worrying degree of being comatose, the extra primping was a curiosity.

Automatically, Optimus followed Beachcomber's example. His hologram switched on, standing next to his grill. Ironhide, as usual, didn't bother. He refused the use of holograms unless the situation absolutely called for it.

"I hope the rifts didn't get them too badly. The first time crossing is the worst," Will commented as a jaunty yellow school bus bumped into view.

"I warned the group to bring something to puke into in case they got sick crossing," intoned the human woman from Public Relations... Cathy? Carol? Whatever. She jotted notes down on her PDA.

Optimus immediately scanned the bus. To his surprise and delight, the majority of the occupants were younglings. "Some of them are distressed," Prime said. "But it appears that most of them are more excited than sick." He could hear them cheering from within the confines of the bus. The resiliency of younglings never ceased to amaze him.

Will blew out a relieved breath. "That's good. I'd hate for them all to start their trip off badly."

Beachcomber's hologram nodded slowly, and then said in his too-mellow voice, "I've noticed that vomiting does tend to ruin your species' mood."

"You noticed that, did you?" Will wondered wryly.

Ignoring the exchange, Optimus's hologram turned to the Topkick towering next to him, narrowing his gaze. "Annabelle is on that bus, isn't she?"

Ironhide leaned away subtly, looking quite guilty for a truck. "Quite possibly."

The matter was confirmed the moment the bus inched to a halt and the doors creaked open. A short, blond human wearing a Scouts uniform bolted out of the bus like a streak of lightning. Behind her came shouts for her to return, but determination and excitement were etched onto her face as she ran.

"Hey, Annie," Will called to his daughter, whom he had only seen that morning but was happy to see her again anyways.

"Hi, Daddy!" Annabelle shouted as she ran past him. Her intended target became obvious as her joyful wail hit decibels only dogs and Cybertronians could hear. _"Ironhide!" _

At the very last moment, Ironhide burst into a flurry of movement. Armour parted into a thousand little pieces, rearranging themselves like a living kinetic puzzle. He came to his feet in seconds, kneeling down and scooping Annabelle from the asphalt before she could run into his foot and hurt herself. She shrieked in excitement as she was tossed in the air, her arms and legs waving.

One thing about Annabelle, she had no fear of the Cybertronians. As far as she was concerned, they were _family_. And for many Cybertronians, Annabelle was special. At eight years old, Annabelle all but bubbled with love and energy. She was the closest thing on Earth to a Cybertronian youngling, and there were more than a few Autobots willing to dote on her. For her part, the little human girl certainly did not mind the extra attention.

Far from worried as his daughter flew through the air at death-defying heights, Will watched with amusement sparkling his eyes.

As soon as she came down in Ironhide's large palms, protectively cupped there so she wouldn't fall, Annabelle was staring up at the mech excitedly. "I knew you'd come!" she exclaimed, her shining curls bouncing around her round face. "You and Chromia haven't come over in FOREVER! I miss you guys so much! I wanted to see you so bad!"

Ironhide chuckled, blowing a warm draft of air across the youngling. "It's only been a couple of orns."

"It's been three months!" Annabelle laughed.

"Oh." Ironhide looked a little surprised and a little embarrassed. Earth time went by so quickly.

"It's okay, Ironhide. I know you're really bad with time." Annabelle scrambled to the edge of the mech's palm and looked down. "Dad! Make Ironhide drive you home when you're done work! I want him to visit!"

Will laughed. "Only if he wants to drive me home."

"I wouldn't mind," Ironhide intoned automatically. "I'll even see if Chromia will come." Chromia had a soft spot for Annabelle that was nearly as bad as Ironhide's. And where Ironhide had connected with William Lennox, Chromia had become particularly good friends with Sarah ever since the woman had taken care of Arcee when they had first come to Earth.

"You're the best!" Annabelle cheered.

Will shielded his eyes against the glare of the sun as he stared up at his daughter. "Honey, I think it's time you come down now."

With a dramatic sigh, Annabelle looked to Ironhide to put her back on the ground. The weapons specialist was quick to do so, but then had to nudge the little girl to get her to rejoin the group of younglings she had come with. She dragged her feet over, reluctant to leave. A few adults looked as if they wanted admonish her for running out like she did, but a rolling growl from Ironhide had them thinking better of it. The instant Annabelle was back with her friends, they surrounded her with excited squeals and looks of awe. They hadn't believed her when she had said she was best friends with the Autobots; they believed her now.

Beachcomber pouted a bit as he looked on, disappointed that Ironhide had ruined the fun of transforming in front of everyone. He'd been looking forward to surprising the humans; the range of reactions that came when a human first saw a Cybertronian transform were _priceless_. The surprise ruined, the microbot's hologram disappeared and he stood up in his true form. The sudden change caught everyone's attention, their gazes riveted on the transformation. Being much smaller than Ironhide, Beachcomber's shift was easier to watch without getting lost in so many moving parts. A couple little ones gasped or squealed as they watched. Beachcomber seemed moderately mollified by the attention.

Taking a deep drag of air, Beachcomber puffed out his chest and made himself looked prouder than he ever looked in his entire life. He smiled for the humans as he said, "Hello everyone, and welcome to the co-operative base of the Autobots and EDC. My designation is Beachcomber, and this here is Cassidy," he motioned to the blond human beside him, "and we are going to be your guides this weekend while you tour our facilities."

A couple of the younglings twittered excitedly, while some of them giggled over how "funny" Beachcomber's name was. A good portion of them kept sneaking looks up at Ironhide, who continued to tower over everyone, watching the proceedings with interest. Unfortunately, he was a very imposing figure whether he wanted to be or not, and ended up intimidating the adult chaperons of the group until Optimus ordered him to assume his alt mode again.

As Beachcomber calmly went over the weekend itinerary for the young group of Scouts, Optimus sat back and soaked in the young innocence and exuberance gathered in front of him. A vague memory came to him of Miles approaching him months ago with this idea. The young human had been under the impression that bringing young ones in would be a good step in the right direction to have Earth see the Cybertronians in a better light. Even if the adults were being stubborn, maybe they could educate the young. Seeing these younglings now, Optimus had to agree. Their bright eyes and open expressions as they watched and listened to Beachcomber filled him with hope. They reminded him of the reason he continued to fight. Why any of the Autobots continued to fight.

If they stopped fighting, such bright little sparks as Annabelle's would cease to shine.

Even if the world seemed utterly dark now, there was always hope for the future if little ones like Annabelle and her friends lived.

So they fought to protect the future.

Curious, Optimus sent an enquiring nudge to Elita One. At the same time, he sent her a brief message, wondering if she knew about the Scouts. Had she set him up? She didn't send him a reply message, but he could feel her laughing through their bond. Sweet, light, fey laughter that felt so good.

"And," Beachcomber intoned, his mellow tones taking on a bit of enthusiasm for his young guests, "just for you little ones, I managed to book a couple hours in the holodeck tonight. They're below ground, and humans are not normally allowed down there. You're very lucky that we managed to book them for you."

"So jealous of them right now," Will coughed quietly, but grinning.

"Mirage put up quite the fight trying to prevent them going down," Ironhide said quietly.

"Mirage is an aft," Will replied, rolling his eyes.

Someone's hand shot up, waving around eagerly. Before he could be called on, he eagerly blurted out, "What's a holodeck?"

Beachcomber smiled, his optics shining. "It's a giant room with holographic projectors in it that can create solid forms through light and force fields. With the projectors, we can make the room look like anything we want."

"Cool!" the boy shouted over the excited whispering that broke out.

"What are we gonna do in the holodeck?" someone else asked loudly.

"We'll be sleeping in there," Beachcomber informed. "But it won't be just a room when we're in there. I'll put on one of the favourite programs us Autobots like to play, so we'll all be on Cybertron's moon Diluna tonight. It is a very beautiful place."

"We're gonna sleep on the moon!" shrieked a girl.

"Yes."

Cheers and squeals erupted in abandon, prompting several of the adult chaperons to cover their ears while laughing.

"They'll never sleep tonight now," one adult said ruefully.

"They have a full day ahead of them," Cassidy intoned, rechecking the itinerary on her PDA. "They'll be tuckered out by the end of the day."

It took several minutes to calm the crazy group down. They were so much like the younglings from the Youth Sectors of Cybertron, Optimus couldn't help but be charmed.

One small girl stuck her hand up nervously, her wide brown eyes staring up at Beachcomber. "Are we going to meet Optimus Prime?"

At this, a wide smile crept across the microbot's faceplate, as it did across Will's and Cassidy's. Annabelle giggled. Ironhide chuckled deeply.

"As a matter of fact, you're in luck," said the dune buggy as he stepped back, giving an unimpeded view of the flame-painted semi parked behind him. "Optimus Prime is with us right now."

Right on cue, Optimus transformed. The usual musical melody of transformation was now accompanied by a choir of gasps and squeals. He stood to his feet and stretched high, creating a dramatic effect as sunlight glinted off his armour. He then knelt down on the asphalt, his calm gaze scanning the gathered crowd before him. The many eyes that stared up at him were wide, their expressions much like Sam and Mikaela's had been the first day Optimus had met them.

Surprise. Awe. A little bit of fear. A whole lot of wonder.

Young eyes that stared up at him with so much hope and promise.

He stared down at them all and smiled, his spark feeling lighter now than it had in orns.

"Hello," he said, letting the greeting roll from him. "My name is Optimus Prime..."


	11. To Love Beyond Reason

Man, this was a hard chapter to write. I'm still wondering if I did it right. *shakes head* Oh well, I _needed_ to get this out of my head before it drove me insane. The next couple of weeks are going to be full of term papers and stuff like that, so no fanfiction writing for the next forever or so. x_x I hope this chapter is good enough to hold everyone over until the next update!

**Flameshield**- I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. I suppose you could compare the situation in WE to your situation; both yourself and the TFs are at war, yet you find yourselves in moments of peace that are completely at odds with the outside world. For your sake, I hope you find peace where you are for longer than a few moments.

**Juzu**- Thanks so much for reviewing~ I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. ^_^

**Jason M. Lee**- Haha, I'm happy that you think the kids' reactions in the last chapter were appropriate. I'm not around kids a lot, so I was pretty much just imaging what adults would be like and then scaling it down. XD

**Violet-** Thank you so much~ You're too kind. ^_^

**Phoebe Turner-** Thank so much! =)

**CNightJoy**- Heh, i think Annabelle is half the reason Ironhide has warmed up to humanity. =P As for Prowl doing the right things around Jazz... you'll be able to judge for yourself how he does in this chapter. ^_^

**Goldendreams257**- My dear, I'm honoured that you were able to bring yourself to leave a review for the last chapter. Every little bit of love means a lot to me. ^_^ I am so glad that you enjoyed the last chapter, and thankful that it inspired you to review. As well, I'm flattered that you like what I'm doing with Chase and Hound. They're a fun pair to torture. =P

**Musical-girl**- Thanks so much for reviewing. =)

**Chloo**- Haha, it makes sense doesn't it? Optimus Prime just seems like the kind of mech who could sit around for a few hours and just ponder about life and watch as people go about their lives around him. He'd be like a People Watching expert or something. XD And you're right, Prowl and Jazz are not bonded yet. I can't say much about it without giving anything away, but I promise you that a day will come in the future when everyone will get to see the momentous scene. =P For now, I hope you will be satisfied with this chapter, which is just a little bit more of the same old thing when it comes to everyone's favourite tactician and saboteur. =P

**Balrog Roike**- It's funny that you point that out... It does seem like Elita One and Jazz are the ones who are tackling their problems more openly than the others. Maybe it's because the injuries inflicted on them forced them to hit rock bottom, so the only way to go for them was up? Maybe the rest of the Cybertronians need to hit rock bottom before they start building themselves up again...

**animelover1993**- My dear, may I say with the utmost sincerity, that you have totally and utterly rocked my world with your reviews. From the first moment you started reviewing _What Time We Have Left_, I couldn't believe there was someone out there with that much energy and enthusiasm for my stories. I am amazed and flattered and humbled all at the same time that you invested so much time in reading everything from start to finish, and you still like it. Thank you so much for all your kind words! You are too kind, in all senses of the phrase. In honour of your reading marathon and all your reviews, this chapter is dedicated to you~ ^_^

Read and Review to spread the love! ^_^

**May We Never Let Go  
To Love Beyond Reason**

A single shift for a Cybertronian, equal to three days on Earth, was easy enough for a Cybertronian to sit through… If you happened to like incredibly boring shifts that seem to rot the neural circuits right out of your head the longer the shift dragged on.

A double shift, equivalent to 6 Earth days, nearly a full orn, could be a little more taxing, but not impossible. The worse that ever happened was you were either forced to listen to Simmons drone on about some horrible public incident he had been forced to cover up for, or you had to listen to other Cybertronians complain about some other little thing like getting sand up their exhaust pipes. If you got stuck with both, then you had the worst luck in the world.

A _triple_ shift, nine days long and filled with the mindless dribble of watching monitoring screens at the same time as trying to complete several reports while forced to listen to humans and Cybertronians complain about their lives instead of actually doing their jobs was kind of like being punished. Like being sent to the brig for doing something heinous. Only the brig would have been a better option because it was _quiet_ there.

As Prowl stepped out of the large command centre that had expanded several times its original size to accommodate everyone, he had a new understanding for the human phrase 'driving someone to drink'. The door hissed closed behind him, but he was still not alone in the hall, and therefore refused to show any kind of weakness, even though he was exhausted and sore. As soon as he was back in his quarters, he would be able to sit down and relax a little. Once he was rested, he would perhaps indulge in a few of the relaxation techniques he had learnt on Earth, as well as take comfort in the ones Jazz had taught him long ago.

For that to happen, he would have to return to his quarters.

And to return to his quarters meant to encounter Jazz again, and Prowl could not be certain if he would be welcome at the moment. He had wounded Jazz's pride in a moment of thoughtlessness by taking his lover's hand. He had meant it harmlessly, simply to guide him out of the courtyard so that they could walk together. Jazz's pride, however, would never allow such a thing. He was much more reactive and volatile these days, especially when it concerned his blindness, and most especially when it came to Prowl.

They loved each other, that was a fact.

_But_… sometimes they didn't know how to be around each other.

Deciding that he was not _that_ exhausted, Prowl chose to delay the inevitable by detouring to the med bay. The drive wasn't long, and the roads were so familiar that Prowl barely needed to pay attention as he drove. The med bay was among one of the largest aboveground facilities contained on base, one of their more noticeable landmarks; it was large by necessity, as many of the patients happened to be quite tall in comparison to the humans and generally needed a little more space to get around in. One of the sad truths about it was that it was one of the most frequently used buildings on base.

Prowl went around to the Cybertronian side and breezed in, looking about the utilitarian entryway for some evidence of what he was there for. Much to his displeasure, there was no neon sign in the lobby to tell him exactly what he was doing or what he was supposed to do. Approaching footsteps alerted the tactician to coming company, and a quick resonance scan informed him it was none other than the Autobots' resident CMO. It was a mere astrosecond or two before Ratchet came into the lobby with a human on his shoulder. The human was unmistakably Dr Spring, her hair down and her usual white lab coat gone. She must have been off duty, merely staying on location to keep Ratchet company. They were discussing some subject amiably, only to trail off when they caught sight of Prowl.

"Is something the matter?" Ratchet asked, cocking an optic ridge. His gaze travelled over Prowl quickly, assessing him for any visible reason why Prowl would come see a medic.

"No, I'm perfectly fine," Prowl replied automatically, no matter how much of it was a lie.

"You look exhausted," Ratchet pointed out.

"A triple shift will do that to you," Prowl said. "That's little cause to see a medic, though."

Dr Spring canted her head. "If you're not here for yourself, then you must be here for someone else," she surmised. She peered over at the side of Ratchet's faceplate. "I can't think of anyone here that he might come to see, though." She peered at Prowl again, a small half-smile curving the right side of her mouth. "You're not the most sociable mech on base, you know."

"The only ones he might be here for are the twins," Ratchet pointed out. He paused, and then turned a curious stare on the tactician "Are you here for the twins? They haven't even been on base for two full orns, let alone been anywhere other than their berths; I can't imagine either of them having time for any kind of mischief."

"I..." Prowl straightened his stance, attempting to look not so lost. He made a last-minute decision in order to save himself from looking like a dolt standing there. "Yes, I am here to see Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, but not out of any mischief they've caused."

Ratchet stared for a moment longer than necessary, obviously suspicious of Prowl's reasons- or lack thereof- for being there. In the end, he shrugged. "Alright, they're in room B-4. Don't stay too long or exhaust them too much- they're still recovering."

"Of course."

"If I find out you've dragged them off to the brig for some reason, I will not be pleased," warned the medic, an unspoken threat evident in his tone.

"Noted." With a nod of his head, Prowl left Ratchet and Felicity to their conversation. He made his way to the nearest lift that would take him to the second floor, slipping into the empty cage and quickly engaging the buttons. He exited on the correct floor without a sound. A few doors down the hall was a room labelled B-4 in strictly stencilled black letters on a plain grey background. There was no lock or keycode necessary for entry, but Prowl hesitated nonetheless. He had no specific reason for being here. He did not know what he would do once he was on the other side.

Perhaps it was best to turn around and return to his quarters, whatever the welcome there might be.

In the end, the decision was made for him.

"I know you're out there, Prowl," called a soft voice through the door, recognizable as Sunstreaker's. He had a deceptively handsome voice for such a volatile warrior, especially when he let his original Tetraxian accent come through.

Prowl stepped forward and allowed the door to swish open, revealing a square room whose decor consisted of only two berths on either side of the room, a window in between, and a cabinet containing basic medical supplies below that. As could be expected, there were two bots inside, a gold mech to the right and the red mech to the left. One was awake and aware while the other was not. Prowl didn't smile for them as he entered, but then again, he didn't have to. He inclined his head for the one who was conscious at the moment.

"I didn't think your spark scanner was active," he said to golden mech.

"It goes in and out. I caught just a glimpse of you before it went out again," Sunstreaker admitted as he moved onto his side, balancing his weight on his forearm. He watched Prowl carefully, much like Ratchet had, as if trying to read his mind. "To what to we owe this visit?" His gaze slid to brother, unconscious on the berth on the other side of the small room. The red mech laid there dead to the world, his left arm stretched across his front so as to grip his newly attached right arm while he recharged. "Sideswipe's been out cold since he got here."

"I'm not here to put your brother in the brig," Prowl said.

"That's a first," Sunstreaker drawled, ice-like optics sliding back to Prowl. "If you're not here for him, then why are you here?" He arched an optic ridge. "Don't tell me you're here for me; I haven't done anything either."

"I... do not know," Prowl sighed, shaking his head. He looked to the door at his back. "I'm sorry for bothering you like this. I should go."

"Wait, no, don't go," Sunstreaker said quickly, stalling Prowl's retreat. When the tactician turned to meet the warrior's gaze, Sunstreaker gestured to the berth he laid on. "Sit down- you must have come here for something. I could use the company right now- Sides isn't good for much right now."

Prowl visibly struggled with the choice to stay or go. Finally, his doorwings sagged and he sighed, "If you're sure you wouldn't mind me as company…"

"I'm sure." Sunstreaker waited until Prowl crept over and sat down at the end of the berth. With a grimace, the golden bot pushed himself up fully and leaned back against the wall. "Something come up with Jazz again?"

Prowl flinched, which was answer enough.

Sunstreaker's gaze dimmed. "Right. Should have guessed."

Sideswipe made a snuffling noise as he recharged, his vents cycling, fans vibrating.

Sunstreaker sighed. Prowl's shoulders sagged.

"What did you do?"

Prowl bristled for a moment. "Why do you assume I was the one to do something?"

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. "Because if it wasn't your fault, you wouldn't be here. If it was Jazz's fault, he wouldn't bother going to anyone. You're here, so obviously you've done something." Out of force of habit, he reached for the soft polishing cloth sitting on the small table next to his berth in order to start cleaning himself. As he discovered halfway to the table, his still-healing shoulder didn't like it when he stretched that far. Without a word, Prowl retrieved the cloth and handed it to the golden mech.

"Thank you," Sunstreaker murmured, folding the cloth gently to begin working with it.

"You're welcome," Prowl replied automatically as he resumed his seat. He took a moment to observe one of Sunstreaker's best known obsessive-compulsive habits. The familiarity of it was comforting in a strange kind of way. Sunstreaker could always be counted on to go through the same ritualistic movements every time, at the same speed, with the same invested interest every time he cleaned and polished himself. He almost never deviated. Prowl knew those movements intimately, vividly recalling the feel of the warrior's hands that orn on the _Loki_ when Sunstreaker had cleaned him when he could not.

Prowl had given up trying to define their current relationship years ago, and he knew for a fact that Sunstreaker consistently refused to think about it. They were very much aware that things had changed since Sunstreaker had attempted to invade his mind several years before; Sunstreaker had gotten a glimpse of who Prowl really was, and Prowl had gained a new understanding of Sunstreaker in return. With their previous antagonism evaporated, they had been at a loss to deal with each other. So they remained in a place where they didn't like each other but didn't dislike each other either, and yet could confide in the other when the need called for it.

Sunstreaker did not pause in his smooth, clockwise motions brushing down his arm as he met Prowl's gaze. "Well? I'm right, aren't I? You did something."

"You are right," Prowl murmured reluctantly.

Sunstreaker showed no particular victory in being right. "What did you do?"

Prowl revved for a moment, reluctant to speak. He relented when he realized there was no point in keeping it to himself if he had come to Sunstreaker to talk, even if he had not realized he wanted to talk when he first came. "I took his hand."

Instead of laughing at such a tiny gesture, the golden warrior nodded. "Yeah, that would do it."

"I wasn't thinking," Prowl sighed. "I took on a triple shift to avoid him after that. He hasn't bothered to come see me either."

"Maybe he's been busy?" Sunstreaker offered.

"With what? He hardly has any work to do anymore, and the work he does do he can complete within a joor," Prowl sighed.

"That's probably part of the problem. You and I both know Jazz is capable of… Well, he's capable of damn near _anything_ if he puts his mind to it, and now he has hardly any work? He gets the safe, boring, easy deskwork that he never used to want to do unless you put a blaster to his head. He's basically a trapped animal in his own frame." Sunstreaker sighed, and then shuddered. Most Cybertronians didn't depend as much on their sight as much as they did on their on other senses, but Jazz had a special talent of reading people with his optics. Sunstreaker could sympathize greatly with the saboteur; to lose his optics would mean to never be able to fight again, never paint again. _Never be able to admire his reflection again_. A fate worse than death.

Sunstreaker then slanted the tactician a sharp look. "But you know all that already, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I do." Prowl hunched forward, laying his faceplate into his upraised hands. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't wish there was something I could do for him."

"How about if you stopped treating him like a blind mech?" Sunstreaker pointed out.

"He _is_ a blind mech," Prowl replied.

"But he doesn't want to be treated like one, half-bit," Sunstreaker snorted. He jerked his chin in the direction of the table. "Pass me that polish, will you?" Prowl smartly handed it over. The tub's lid was unscrewed, and the scent of pine needles and mint wafted out. Homemade polish made by Cybertronian hands, since Sunstreaker didn't trust human brands of polish.

"I realize I am going to have to apologize," Prowl intoned.

"Then do it already. What are you doing here wasting your time?" Sunstreaker asked, smoothly working in the polish until even his healing dents were glossy.

"I do not feel as if it is something I should apologize for," Prowl reasoned, if not a tad sullenly. "I did not mean to offend his sensitive pride. All I was attempting to do was..."

"Coddle him?" Sunstreaker offered.

"_Be kind,"_ Prowl concluded darkly.

"Same difference," the golden mech shrugged. "Just suck it up and say you're sorry. Doesn't even matter if you're right or wrong, or even if you're sincere about it. Just do it, or you'll go out of your mind over it."

Prowl shot the other mech a withering look, then revved in frustration. "I _feel_ like I'm going out of my mind anyways!" He scrubbed his hands over his faceplate, exhaustion weighing him down. His processor felt like it was coming apart at the seams, and for once it wasn't because he had left his emotional centre off for too long.

Sunstreaker watched impassively for another breem or so. He kind of understood where Prowl was coming from, but only so far as feeling alienated from someone you love… Not that he was alienated from Sideswipe, not anymore. It was Moonfly actually, although he didn't think she counted as someone he loved. She was someone he had no idea what to do with most of the time, and the rest of the time he kind of wanted to throw her against a wall. That was a little bit like Prowl's situation… sort of. Nevertheless, Sunstreaker summoned some sympathy.

"You know what you need?" Sunstreaker suddenly intoned.

Prowl brought his faceplate up from the cradle of his palms, watching the other mech warily. "What is it I need?"

"You need something to take the edge off," informed the golden mech. "I know just the thing." Very carefully, he brought his legs around and pushed himself to stand. He took a step, and then stumbled when stiff joints seized. Prowl was immediately off the berth and to his side, catching him around the waist and hauling him to stand.

"Is this necessary?" Prowl inquired, taking Sunstreaker's direction and guiding him towards his prostrate brother.

"Don't get your circuits in a knot. A little fall won't kill me," Sunstreaker snorted.

As they made it to Sideswipe's berth, Sunstreaker had no issue with immediately flicking open his twin's subspace pocket and reaching in. Because the twins were _The Twins_, the only spark-split twins in existence, the general rules of personal space did not always apply. In reality, the general rules of most things concerning Cybertronians did not apply. Nevertheless, Prowl immediately disapproved of the situation. Sunstreaker sensed the disapproval without even looking back. He patted the arm that was still around him, staying there as a caution in case he lost his footing again.

"He doesn't mind," the warrior assured.

"He's not even conscious," Prowl pointed out.

"So?" Sunstreaker laughed. He tapped his chest, over his spark. "He knows anyways."

Not exactly appeased by the answer, but forced to accept it, Prowl watched Sunstreaker rummage through Sideswipe's personal subspace as if it were his own. Despite their once antagonistic relationship, Prowl had to admit a certain amount of fascination with the twins. They were the rarest breed of Cybertronians, mysteries unto themselves. They never ceased to present oddities to those around them, such as each having their own spark and yet only shared a single spark resonance between them. They were bonded and yet not. Two separate bots; two sides to the same coin. On the occasion, such as now, they could be caught treating each other as mere extensions of themselves rather than as two separate individuals.

"Here it is," Sunstreaker suddenly intoned, withdrawing a medium sized cube of energon. He set it aside and brought out another. Both had been sealed. From his own subspace, he brought out a larger empty cube; cracking the seals of Sideswipe's cubes, he proceeded to pour the two together into the single cube. As he did, he spoke. "Don't worry- this isn't his strong stuff. He brought it along on the mission to drink when he was bored." Finished combining the cubes, he slid the final product to Prowl. "It's got a bit of a cyanide kick in it, so watch out."

Prowl stared at the offering. "So I really have been driven to drink," he sighed to himself.

"You look like you need it," Sunstreaker urged. "Everyone needs a drink once in a while. Drink it by yourself or use it as a peace offering for Jazz. I don't care. It's better than energizer, isn't it?"

Prowl grimaced. "Yes, much better." He took the cube into his hands and contemplated it. He met Sunstreaker's gaze over the vibrant turquoise glow of the sloshing liquid. "Thank you."

Sunstreaker shrugged, his ice-coloured optics brightening for a moment. "Any time."

Feeling a little less lost than he did before, Prowl curved his mouthplates in a gesture that was not quite a smile. He felt better now that he had some vague sense of purpose, even if that purpose was now to drink to improve his disposition. Jazz would most likely approve. He met Sunstreaker's gaze again. "Are you able to get back to your berth on your own?"

The golden warrior snorted. "I can manage."

Prowl left without another word, still exhausted but no longer dragging his feet.

Room B-4 was silent for a couple of breems while Sunstreaker listened to the sound of the tactician's footsteps fade down the hall. When all traces of Prowl were gone, Sideswipe abruptly sat up. His steady gaze was clear and bright as he met his twin's steady stare. Clearly, the red warrior had not been recharging the whole time.

"You owe me for the energon," he said, arching an optic ridge.

"He looked like he needed it," Sunstreaker reasoned.

"He looked like he needed a slap to the head too, but I didn't see you doing that," Sideswipe huffed.

"Whatever," Sunstreaker growled, nudging his brother. "Are you going to push over or what? I'm not going to make it back to my berth."

Sideswipe smirked. "What's the magic word?"

"Move or you'll be missing an arm again."

Sideswipe sighed. "Close enough." He rolled over and let Sunstreaker fall down next to him. Together, they fell into recharge for real.

* * *

Pausing at the door to his quarters, Prowl listened for a moment. All was silent within. It was the kind of silence that you usually heard in Earth horror movies before some psychopath jumped out of a room and hacked someone to death. With that thought in mind, Prowl suffered the sudden urge to want to walk away again. There were plenty of empty rooms around. He could find a lonely space for himself and stay there for a little while more...

Or he could admit that he was being a coward.

He looked down at the glowing cube of energon in his hand and knew that he couldn't turn back. Jazz was an important person to him and he was not going to lose him again over something stupid. But just as a precautionary measure, Prowl looked down the hall to his right, then to his left, and as soon as he was sure no one was looking, he took several large gulps of energon to steady himself. Half the cube disappeared. He then shook his head to clear himself of the cyanide kick Sunstreaker had warned of. The energy level of the drink might not have been high enough to over-energize anyone, but the cyanide aftertaste was strong enough to kill a human if they got within breathing distance of the concoction.

Now fortified, Prowl raised his knuckles to knock politely on the door to his room.

"Why bother knockin'?" Jazz's voice drawled through the door. "This is your room, too."

"I was being polite," Prowl replied as he let the door hiss open, and then stepped over the threshold.

"Yeah, polite. That's nice." Jazz huffed, not bothering to look up in Prowl's direction. What was the point? It wasn't like he was going to see anything.

Prowl nodded, unsure of what he could say in reply. It was hard to decide if he was relieved or not to receive such a lacklustre greeting from the silver bot. It was better than a fight. He was rather tired of fighting. However, he missed the intimacy that used to be between them. He missed the warmth. Pit, even a smile from Jazz would have been nice.

"Have you been in here this whole time?" Prowl enquired, letting his gaze sweep the medium-sized room he shared with Jazz, noting the minuscule changes it had undergone in the orn and a half he'd been gone. The lights were off, and their single moderately-sized window didn't let much light in, just a little trickle of poor light that came from the dangling light bulbs that hung from the roof of the subterranean cavern. Aside from the large berth which Prowl shared with Jazz, there was a single large desk they alternated using. The once-neat surface was now in a state of disarray that Prowl recognized as Jazz's unique organizational style.

"Sure, Ah've been busy. Can't ya tell?" Jazz replied curtly. He was currently sprawled on the berth, surrounded by data pads. He was connected to one, downloading the information directly into his processor to deal with it that way. Many pads were on the floor, as if shoved there in a fit of frustration. One or two broken ones laid in shadowed corners, smashed in half from the force of being thrown against a wall.

If there was one thing about Jazz that Prowl knew well, it was that he did not deal with being isolated very well. Being alone for long periods of time in quiet rooms with nothing to think about only allowed for Jazz's own wild mind to start attacking him with a thousand different thoughts that were liable to drive him insane.

Prowl took in the scene and sighed. His spark sank a little. It looked as if Jazz had already had a few fits of madness. A few smashed data pads were small in comparison to some of the real damages Jazz could do around base if he was driven that far, but knowing his lover was suffering to any degree tore Prowl up inside. His spark ached, and he remained with the damnably frustrating sense of never knowing exactly what to do anymore.

In the past, Jazz had always been the one to help him. And now, when Jazz needed the help, Prowl always fell short.

As many bots knew, he wasn't an overly emotional bot. He tried his damnedest to be as _un_emotional as possible on a regular basis. But the emotions he did feel, he felt them strongly. Stronger than most. At the moment, helplessness, frustration, and pain overpowered him. He wanted to say a thousand things for Jazz, yet only silence reigned when the right words wouldn't come. He wished to do whatever it took to make the saboteur the bot he used to be, but there was nothing in the universe to make him as he was.

Prowl sighed, his black-and-white doorwings sagging.

"Stop standin' there starin' at meh. Ah'm not a sideshow," Jazz snapped, his head turned warily in Prowl's direction.

"I wasn't staring at you," Prowl replied quietly.

The saboteur bristled, turning his faceplate away. "Ah wouldn't be able to tell, now would Ah?"

He might not have been able to see, but Jazz was certainly looking to start something. It was in every line of his tense frame. A vibrating, volatile energy that wanted to lash out and cause some violence. A verbal battle, maybe. More likely a physical wrestling match. Something to drain the pent-up frustration eating away at him like an acid.

Prowl didn't have the spark to give the silver mech what he wanted, so he said nothing at all. Instead, he set down his cube of energon on the small table near their shared berth, and then crouched to the floor to begin picking up the pieces of the data pads Jazz had shattered. He tossed the pieces into a waste receptacle, and then began picking up the other data pads on the floor, organizing them into a neat little pile that was set down on the table next to the energon cube. He straightened, looked around, and with a decided avoidance of Jazz's blind gaze, he turned to the desk and went about returning it to an organization that made sense to him.

Jazz followed his every move. He might not have had optics to see by, but he used his other senses. He listened to the hum and hiss of Prowl's frame moving, the scrape of data pads along the floor. His spark resonance scanner followed Prowl's spark, sensing each steady pulse of energy. His proximal scanners told him where Prowl was in relation to his own frame; Jazz knew if he was crouching or standing, moving or sitting completely still. The saboteur could remember in perfect detail what Prowl looked like; the angle of his bright red chevrons; the quirk of his doorwings. He could recall exactly how the mech moved, how brightly his optics shone. How handsome Prowl's faceplate was.

Only… memories were just that. _Memories. _No matter how well Jazz could remember every detail, it would never be enough.

It was never the real thing.

What he wouldn't give to be able to see again. Just for a moment. Just to see Prowl…

Jazz bowed his head, turning his blind gaze away from his lover. The Fallen had made sure he would never see again. Never enjoy the pleasure of light. Never bask in the joy of colours. The last memory he had of being able to see was of the Fallen wearing Prowl's frame, stealing Jazz's optics right out of his head. Not that Jazz blamed Prowl for the part he played. It wasn't Prowl's fault that his optics had been taken. But sometimes... sometimes, Jazz wanted to see so badly that it hurt, and he couldn't help but take his pain out on the one thing that was closest to him.

"There, the desk is back in order," Prowl suddenly announced. Feeling better now that he had accomplished some little task, he stood to survey his handiwork. As he did so, he felt a clawed hand run along the bottom edge on his right doorwing. The touch was gentle, so light that it was almost not there at all, and Prowl shuddered in response. He turned to look over his shoulder curiously, peering down at the silver mech now caressing him. A fluttering kind of hope dared to filter through him as he asked, "What are you doing?"

Jazz's hand withdrew. He shifted around to sit on the edge of the berth, his blind gaze contemplating Prowl's back. Silence lingered between them for so long that it made Prowl nervous.

"Jazz?" Prowl murmured.

"Let meh touch ya," said the saboteur, so quiet and weary. "It's the closest thing Ah have ta seeing ya."

Unable to deny such a request, Prowl acquiesced. "You may touch me for as long as you like."

"Ah plan on it," said the saboteur, his touch returning to Prowl's doorwings. He used one claw of one hand to trace the contours of the metal, remembering every fold in the metal. He touched the sensitive attachments between the wings and back, adding only the barest magnetic charge.

Prowl shuddered again. He was enjoying the touch. It was exactly what he needed after the triple shift he'd just endured. He hadn't been expecting something like this when he finally returned to his quarters, and the pleasant surprise of it made the touch feel a thousand time better. Unfortunately, he was unsure by what Jazz meant by it. It was pointless trying to predict whatever the silver bot was thinking, so Prowl obliged to stand there and let himself be touched. When a guiding hand urged him to turn around, he did so, coming to stand between Jazz's spread legs. Looking down, Prowl saw a faceplate more handsome than any other he had known. Streamlined audios accentuated by handsome horns; an angled faceplate with knife-sharp features. The glowing stretch of crystalline visor that reminded Prowl of the many things Jazz liked to hide, his lack of optics being one of them.

"You're looking at meh now, aren't you?" Jazz asked, running the tips of his claws up Prowl's sides.

"Yes," Prowl replied quietly, his own hands travelling up Jazz's arms. He wasn't as graceful with magnetic pulses as his lover could be, but he knew enough to illicit a shudder or two.

"Ah wish Ah could look at you, too."

"Some orn, you will see me," Prowl said, caressing his lover's faceplate. "We'll get your optics back, or we'll figure out a way to get you new optics."

"Don't get your hopes up," Jazz snorted, pulling his faceplate away from Prowl's touch. His visor came up, revealing dark holes where his optics used to be. "Ah've been poked, prodded, scanned, and screwed for the last seven years and nothing has come of it. _This_ isn't going to change any time soon."

"You don't know that," Prowl countered.

"But Ah know the Fallen, Ah know his type. He wouldn't have taken anything away from meh if it wasn't going ta be permanent." Jazz glared, and even without his optics to complete the gesture, his stare still burned. "Ah'm stuck this way whether Ah like it or not."

Prowl looked away, guilt riding him like a razor blade to his spark. Just because Jazz had been able to forgive didn't mean he could forgive himself, knowing that it had been his hands to wrench Jazz's optics from their sockets. _"I'm sorry."_

"Ah know ya are. You're more sorry than any bot has a right ta be." Jazz slid backwards until his back hit the wall.

"I can't help it," Prowl admitted.

"Ah know. And Ah'm sorry for being such an aft." Jazz patted the space on the berth next to him, giving an insistent invitation. "Come here, sit with meh. Ah'm tired of having so much space between us."

Prowl stared for a moment, stunned to have received an apology before he could mete out his own. With a little bit of hope burgeoning inside him, he hoisted himself onto the berth and slid to Jazz's side. "I will accept your apology if you accept mine for taking your hand the other orn."

"Of course Ah accept your apology, half-bit," Jazz laughed softly. "Ya never had much ta be sorry for in the first place."

"If you say so," Prowl said, relieved that he was finally absolved of one of his mistakes. He sighed as he leaned back against the wall. His armour touched Jazz's, their personal magnetic fields gently entwining with each other. Every warm cycle of air that breathed out their vents brushed against the other's frame. The feeling was comforting in a way that could not be described. A closeness that was intimate and cherished when all else between them felt so precarious.

"Ah missed ya," Jazz admitted quietly, a little reluctant to say anything at all. "Ah wanted ta come see ya, but..."

"I understand," Prowl said. "You were 'busy'."

Jazz chuckled lightly. "Yeah, _busy, _being stubborn."

"We both have a talent for that," Prowl pointed out, nudging Jazz lightly. Jazz nudged back. Another deep sigh fell from Prowl's vents as his whole frame relaxed, subtly leaning against Jazz as Jazz leaned against him. They were holding each other up. Jazz's hand shifted, searching for something. Their fingers brushed. Jazz's silver hand curled around Prowl's, holding it. Prowl glanced to the side, wearing the almost-smile he wore for only Jazz as he gave the hand that held his a soft squeeze. Even though Jazz could not see that smile his lover wore for him, he seemed to sense it. He smiled, though it was a tired and weary gesture, and leaned his head to Prowl's black-and-white shoulder.

They let the silence stretch on for a little while more, because this time the silence was nice between them. Prowl almost fell into recharge, his exhaustion from his triple shift catching up with him. His head started to droop, optics fading to dark. It was just as his systems were about to shut down for some much needed rest, Jazz spoke.

"Ah didn't mean ta snap at ya earlier," said the saboteur.

It took longer than normal for Prowl to understand what was being said. It took a little effort to come back to full awareness after being so close to recharge. He angled his head just enough to peer at the silhouette of his lover. "Snap at me when? When I came in?"

Jazz snorted softly. "No, the other orn. When ya took mah hand in the courtyard."

Prowl simply blinked and said, "Oh."

"_Oh?_ That's all ya have ta say?"

Prowl cleared his vents subtly. "You're giving away all the apologies I thought I was supposed to be giving to you."

"Don't get used to it," Jazz sniffed haughtily. "Next time there's something we're both sorry for, you'll be saying sorry first."

"Duly noted," Prowl intoned wryly. "And for the record, when I took your hand, I was trying to be kind. I was _not_ coddling you."

Jazz shook his head, a barely-there smile playing across his mouthplates. "Ya weren't coddling meh, Ah know that. Ah snapped at ya because Ah was angry at everything else. It was the morning after everyone returned from Sudan... Ah was angry that Ah wasn't able ta go with them. Ah hated the fact that they got ta go out there and they got ta _fight. _They got to see the action. Even a little human like Sam is more useful than Ah am, and that's not even counting the Allspark advantage he has." Jazz squeezed Prowl's hand again. "You were just a convenient outlet for mah frustrations. Ah'm just so sick and tired of being left here feelin' useless and trapped!"

Prowl shook his head. "You're not useless."

"But Ah _am_ trapped." The saboteur turned his faceplate away. "When was the last time Ah really got ta fight? Seven years ago. Ah fought alongside everyone when Shockwave attacked, but since then... Ah've been sittin' here wasting away."

"That's not true."

"It is fraggin' true, and don't try ta say otherwise."

Prowl leaned in and rubbed his faceplate to his lover's, relieved when Jazz returned the caress instead of batting him away. "Tell me what I can do to make you feel less trapped."

"Schedule meh for something that gets meh off the base," Jazz said, a hint of a plea in his handsome voice. "Ah wanna do something with myself that doesn't involve sitting around with data pads. Get meh on a patrol or send meh on a team next time Elita gets one of her feelings about energy leeches attacking. Ah wanna feel useful again."

Prowl leaned away, carefully assessing the saboteur.

"Prowl, ya know Ah can do it," Jazz intoned stubbornly.

"I know." Prowl bowed his head, relenting. "I'll see what I can do."

"_Thank you_." A little bit more of the lingering tension in the saboteur's frame drained away. He dislodged his hand from Prowl's grip, picking up the tactician's arm and running his fingertips up the inside of his forearm where the metal was shiny and slick from the excess polish he'd picked up from touching Sunstreaker. Jazz took a deep drag of air and could smell the distinct scent of pine needles and mint that was unique to the golden warrior's polish. He slanted an unseeing glance in Prowl's direction. "So ya went and seen Sunstreaker before ya came here?"

Prowl attempted to jerk his arm back, but was stopped by Jazz's superior reflexes. With a sigh, he remained trapped and was forced to admit, "Yes, I was with Sunstreaker before coming here."

"Why?"

Prowl arched an optic ridge. "Jealous?"

Jazz canted his head, arching an optic ridge in return. "Is there something Ah should be jealous of?"

"No, of course not," Prowl replied automatically. "I went to Sunstreaker to talk. I was... unsure of coming back here. I didn't want to fight with you, and I certainly didn't feel like recharging in the hall after the shift I just worked. Talking with him eased some of my anxieties."

"Ah'm sure it did," Jazz said tightly. "You two have been talking a lot lately. Getting rather close..." While he sounded relatively neutral, there was an undercurrent of defensiveness. He suddenly felt the need to sneak into the golden warrior's room and mess his faceplate up. Then he'd come back to his own room and write on Prowl's forehead exactly who he belonged to.

"I thought you said you weren't jealous."

"Ah thought ya said there was nothing ta be jealous of."

"We merely have an understanding," Prowl assured. "There's nothing else going on."

Jazz frowned, not completely satisfied with the answer.

Prowl frowned in return. "It's only an understanding, Jazz. It's not like I'm about to go off and have an affair with him while you're not looking."

The glare Jazz shot him was acidic. "While Ah'm not looking?"

Prowl cringed. "That was a poor choice of words. I did not mean to imply anything... I don't care that you have a handicap. You're still my Jazz. I'm not about to go off with Sunstreaker because you're blind."

"Ah don't see why not," Jazz huffed, and then laughed bitterly. "Get it? _Ah don't see_- 'cause Ah can't see." He laughed again, and it was a harsh sound. "Ya could go off an have an affair with whoever ya want and Ah wouldn't know any better."

"That's not true! You might not be able to see, but you are far from completely blind. I am quite confident I could not change my paint colour without you knowing," Prowl countered. "Sunstreaker may be an intelligent mech with whom I can relate some matters and speak with on even terms, but I think I would commit myself to an asylum before I committed myself to a relationship with him. You are the only one I want. You needn't ever worry about my fidelity to you."

"That's a little melodramatic, don't ya think?" Jazz drawled, arching an optic ridge.

"No, it's not. Even if I could tolerate Sunstreaker on a long term basis, I would end up shooting Sideswipe. That would undoubtedly put a strain on the relationship," Prowl said. He wasn't even joking. It was a fact. There was something about Sideswipe that made Prowl want to shoot him.

Jazz smirked, the jealousy he refused to admit to now abating. "It all depends on your reasons for shooting him," he said. "Ah've shot Sides at least a dozen times since Ah've known him, and Ah'm still friends with both of them."

Prowl gaped for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't even want to know why you shot him all those times."

"Maybe it's best ya don't know. There are some secrets best kept ta myself," Jazz said, patting Prowl on the side of his faceplate.

The tactician grasped hold of that hand before it could fall away. His rubbed his mouthplates to the warm metal, revelling in the touch. His gaze locked on his lover. "You do believe me, though, yes? My spark belongs to you. Only you."

Jazz turned his faceplate away. "But if there came an orn where ya found someone else..."

"There will be no one else. I swear to you." Prowl shifted so that he faced Jazz, catching his lover's faceplate between his hands. Inside him, his spark bloomed with emotions he knew well- one he used to never know or understand, but now embraced with all he had. Passion. Joy. Desire. Longing. _Love_. "Jazz, loving you is the most illogical, unreasonable, uncontrollable thing I have ever done-."

"Then why keep doing it?" Jazz cut in sharply.

Prowl's hands tightened around Jazz's faceplate. "_Because you're worth it_." He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together. He invested as much of his spark as he could into the words he was saying, hoping it would be enough. "I love you more than I've loved anything else in my life. You are everything that I am not, and I adore you for that. You complete me in a way that nothing else can, and it pains me every moment of every day to know you are hurting in any way and there's nothing I can do to help you. If there was a deal I could make with the Fallen to get you back your optics, I would make it."

Jazz shook his head with a sigh. "Don't say that... He might hear ya. Don't let what Ah did be in vain."

"Never in vain," Prowl assured, meaning the words so much that it hurt. "I don't ever want to lose you again. I went through the pit waiting for you to return from the Allspark mission, and I died inside when I found out you had died."

Jazz bowed his head, his spark churning as he was reminded of his death. He hated to be reminded of it.

Prowl moved in closer, so that his whole presence overwhelmed the saboteur. Their chests touched, their sparks synchronising like they did every time they were close. Barely there between them, blue ribbons of light stretched between their armour. They weren't bonded, but their sparks reached for each other nonetheless.

"When you came back, I got to hold your spark in my hands for just a few moments, and it was the most amazing moment in my life. You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen." His voice shook now. His spark was racing so quick, he felt a little lightheaded. He wanted to say all the right things, but didn't know if what he was saying was right at all. "For all the uncertainty we're facing right now, I would never leave you. I love you beyond logic. Beyond reason. My spark is yours, for better or for worse."

The words resonated through Jazz, causing his own spark to soar. Prowl was not a romantic in any sense of the word. In fact, he avoided trying to say "I love you" as often as possible. But when he gathered up enough gusto to say anything it all, it was usually worth listening to.

"Ah feel the same way," Jazz managed to say, his arms coming around Prowl, holding him tight to his spark. The energy that passed between them was wild, and they swore they could _feel_ each other. Feel each other in the beating of their sparks. Jazz sucked in a deep drag of air, and then said, "Bond with meh."

Prowl's optics shot wide. "Now?"

The saboteur shook his head. "When the time is right. For now, just promise meh that your spark is mine. No matter what else the Fallen does to us, or whatever else comes our way, Ah want ta be able ta look forward ta the orn when Ah finally get ta be a part of ya for real. Ah want that moment ta be perfect."

"It will be." Prowl dared a smile, feeling as if his whole world had tilted on its axis.

"Good." Jazz smiled handsomely, running his palms down Prowl's frame possessively. "Because Ah love ya, too. Beyond logic an' reason an' all that pretty stuff ya were saying. Ah love ya so much Ah came back from the dead for ya."

"If that isn't love, I don't know what is," Prowl murmured.

"Ya ain't seen nothin' yet." Jazz grinned up at his lover, his possessive hands finding their way back to Prowl's doorwings once more. His touch was anything but innocent as he teased all the naughty places he knew got his lover's engine revving. "So... ya wanna love meh proper for a little bit?"

Prowl was already reaching for the mech's interface panel. "I thought you'd never ask."


	12. To Dream

Okay, I promised myself I would show a little self-control and get a damn chapter for _Where You and I Collide_ done first before updating this story, but this chapter has been sitting pretty for such a long time, and I NEEDED something to celebrate my last day of my soul being sucked out of me this semester by my university, so I'm posting this chapter!

*****Warning*****: Some trippy stuff goes down in this chapter, so be prepared for some 'WTF?' moments and a bit of confusion (unless you happen to be used to 'WTF' moments and confusion, in which case this will be a normal day for you). And to be on the safe side, don't take any hallucinogenic drugs before or after reading this. I am pretty sure the middle scene constitutes the makings of a really bad acid trip. XD If anyone happens to be able to follow along, then you're awesome cookies and deserve to have the next chapter dedicated to you!

**Animelover1993**- Awwwww, you continue to be one of the sweetest and most enthusiastic reviewers I've ever had. I had a grin the whole time I was reading your review. It's so awesome that you get so much enjoyment out of reading my WE stories. I do hope that the stories continue to be such a joy for you. =) Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and, you know, being as awesome as you currently happen to be. =P

**TransformersLove95**- lol~ I'm glad that you enjoyed the fluff between Prowl and Jazz in this chapter. They're so much fun to write for! =P Be afraid of Psi and what he'll do in the future, though. Be very afraid. *evil grin* And as an aside, you're so sweet to think I 'fucking rock'- that is such an awesome compliment! XD

**Flameshield**- Thanks so much for catching that typo! You're a dear. =) Jazz and Prowl may have already been through the pit and back, but I'm not done torturing them yet. =P

**Renegadewriter8- **Hah, yeah, there is something a little sexy about Jazz being jealous, isn't there? But he hardly has anything to worry about- Prowl's spark definitely belongs to him. ^_^ Although, with the Fallen lurking about, you never know if someone's spark is about to be sold or taken… O_o And I know you wanted _Where You and I Collide_ updated first, but this is the chapter I had done first. Next update will hopefully be _Collide_. =)

**CNightJoy**- Oh my goodness, I'm so glad that you enjoyed the Jazz/Prowl fluff in the last chapter~ It was a joy to write. ^_^ I promise, there is plenty in store for them in the future… just as soon as I think of it. XD Those two are just too much fun not to torture for a little more. =P

**Phoebe Turner**- Thank you so much!

**Mary Vulffe**- Oh my god, you have no idea how much you made my day with your review. I love Matt Murdock/Dare Devil! Jazz _so_ needs to be introduced to him! They'd make such an epic duo! XD And speaking of awesome duos… glad you liked the Prowl/Jazz goodness of the chapter, with that little bit of Sunny and Sides thrown in. They're all such joys to write for! XD Thanks so much for reviewing! It means a lot!

**Lady Tecuma**- I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, and that the fluff actually brought you to tears. Thank you so much for reviewing~ It really means a lot. *hugs you*

**Violet**- ^_^

**Femme4prime**- It might be a while before Jazz and Prowl get to bond, but I promise that day will come! As for Sam giving Jazz his optics back… Psi's a powerful bastard. He worked some evil mojo in taking Jazz's optics. Sam probably could give Jazz his optics back, but it might cost him more time in stasis lock than he's willing to sacrifice. . That was a really good question, though!

**Chloo**- Haha, the chapter may not be a physical object to hug, but you're more than welcome to hug me! I do not turn down hugs! 8D And you have no idea how relieved I am that you liked the chapter. I was really excited to see how you would take it. Fluffy romance and stuff like that is not my forte. I was terrified that I'd totally ruin the scene! O_o Give me sex, violence, and crazy people any day! XD And you totally caught me once again in one of my writing glitches (again)! Why haven't Prowl and Jazz discussed bonding in the last seven years and we see it in that chapter? Well… mostly so readers get to enjoy the fluff and romance of it, but for a more technical explanation… perhaps they've been avoiding it? A lot of things have happened between them and around them, and something as heavy as sparkbonding is hard to talk about with a partner you're not sure how to be around anymore…

**TanithLipsky**- I'm glad you thought so. Thank you for reviewing. ^_^

Special shout outs to **FunkyFish1991**, **Chloo**, and **Blood-tempest**, who have been the best in reading bits and pieces of this chapter and sharing their wonderful brains with me. *hugs you guys like crazy*

Read, Review, and Enjoy! ^_^

**May We Never Let Go  
****To Dream **

The front door to Sam's apartment slammed open so hard the doorknob left a dent in the wall.

"Sam! Dude, you gotta get up! We have got a serious problem here!"

Miles's voice rang through the apartment loud and clear, snapping Sam from his warm, comfortable doze. He jolted up, then fell back to the pillows, supremely confused. He stared at the ceiling for a few long seconds, trying to figure out what had woken him up. It didn't take long to solve the mystery. His bedroom door flew open and a half-naked whirlwind stomped in waving an iPad.

"Dude, what are you still doing in bed? Get up! This is horrible! Terrible! Like apocalypse-proportions bad!"

Mikaela, who had been sleeping soundly by Sam's side, groaned as she came awake and craned her neck to see what all the commotion was about. Her groggy gaze met Miles' wild mismatched eyes. "Oh, it's you," she mumbled, and then rolled over and went back to sleep.

Sam sighed and pushed himself up on his elbows, tracking his best friend as he paced back and forth at the end of the bed. Since scenes like this happened at least once a month, he wasn't too concerned about whatever horrible event had befallen Miles this time. Last time, Miles had come storming in because someone had outbid him on the naked dancing hula girl figurine he'd wanted from eBay. Granted, the last time he'd come storming into Sam's apartment, he'd been fully dressed. This time, he was clad in only a pair of low-slung flannel pants. He was waving his iPad around frenetically as he ranted.

Sam let the scene go on for a little longer than necessary before he interrupted by throwing a pillow at his friend. As soon as he had the other man's attention, he jerked his chin to the door. "Give me a minute. I'll meet you out there."

"Just be quick," Miles said, spinning on his heel and breezing out of the bedroom. As a courtesy, he shut the door behind him.

Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, in no mood to be getting up right that moment. It was only a little after seven- he still had a couple minutes to sleep before he had to be up for real. He glanced to the other side of the mattress where Mikaela was curled up under the sheets, looking so comfortable and tempting. It had been two months since he had returned from Sudan, but still he looked at her as if it had been forever since he'd last seen her. There was nothing he would have liked more than to spoon up against her and go back to sleep, but duty called. He swung his legs over the side of the mattress and slid to his feet, groping around for a pair of pants. He found his jeans, dragged them on, and then shuffled out the door.

Sam's apartment was a nice set up, even if it was a little barren. The main area was all open-concept, with towering windows presiding over the whole scene, letting sunlight pour into the spacious room. The floors were a warm brown hardwood, which looked nice against the cream-coloured leather living room set. The kitchen, where Miles was currently pacing the length of the floor next to the granite-topped island, was appropriately equipped- but he rarely cooked, generally either grabbing meals from the Mess Hall or eating at the Banes' place.

Propping his hip against the edge of a countertop, Sam cocked an eyebrow and said, "Alright, I'm up. You better have a good reason for being here."

Miles spun around, hitching his pants up before they fell off his hips. He then brandished his iPad. "Blaster just sent me this." He slid the pad to Sam, who picked it up and stared.

"What am I looking at?" he sighed.

"Sumdac Industries' latest project-in-development," Miles exclaimed, gesturing sharply. His blond hair flopped into his face, in such a disarray that it looked like he'd just come through a tornado.

"You don't mean Sumdac Cybernetic Industries, do you?" Sam wondered wearily.

"Well, _duh_! Who else would I be talking about?"

Sam closed his eyes and groaned.

Miles Lancaster did not have a good rapport with Sumdac Cybernetic Industries. In fact, it was infamously _bad_. Apparently, there'd been a business party about a year ago which he had attended as a representative of the Autobots and their interests. The night had been going well until the daughter of the owner of Sumdac Industries- Sari, or something like that- had tripped and spilt red wine down the front of Miles's expensive white trousers. The poor girl had been so embarrassed, she'd run out of the room, leaving Miles to the fate of looking like he was bleeding to death in his pants in some disturbingly macabre kind of way. Not that Miles had made a big deal out of it, but Miss Sumdac had been extremely embarrassed. Ever since then, nobody would take his calls at the Detroit-based main office for the company. Miles was _convinced_ they were screening his calls because of Sari. Now, whenever the name Sumdac came up, Miles had a tendency of getting a little irrational.

At the moment, Miles did not like the expression Sam was wearing. "This is serious, man!"

"Serious like the hula dancer was?" Sam asked.

"Way more serious than the hula dancer! Like top-secret, mind-altering, super-important serious!" He started pacing again, and the star pendant he wore around his neck flashed in the sunlight pouring in through the windows.

"Right…" Sam walked around his friend to the fridge, grabbing the orange juice and pouring himself a glass. He then poured a second for Miles, who snatched it away and downed it in one go. With an exasperated sigh, the blond leaned back against the granite island and looked marginally calmer. Sam mirrored him, leaning against the counter behind him.

In contrast to his best friend's frustration, Sam felt relatively calm- aside from the mild irritation of being awake before he had to be. He held up the iPad once more and asked, "So… I can assume the information Blaster gave you was collected through illegal means, because I seriously doubt a competing cybernetic company would be willing to let one of us go waltzing through their data banks."

"I… never asked how he got it," Miles grumbled, suspiciously refusing to make eye-contact.

Yep, that definitely meant Blaster had hacked into the company's mainframe and poked around for a bit. The little bot had a nasty habit of doing that whenever he was bored.

Sam pressed on, not even surprised. "And you do remember that you're a PR guy, not a super-sleuth who needs to find out all the secrets of the universe, right?"

"Yes, I know that!" Miles snapped.

"Then you know that something like this has nothing to do with you," Sam said in slow, calming tones, the same way someone would speak to a particularly worked up child.

Of course, that had the opposite effect on Miles. His cheeks flushed with colour as he went ramrod straight. "No way, man, this has everything to do with me! Sumdac is like my evil nemesis now! My personal super villain! And the information that Blaster dug up- shit, it's got everything to do with me, you, your interfacial ports, _weaponizing _them." He marched forward, grabbed his iPad, and skimmed down until the screen glowed with blueprints. "These are blueprints for suits, Sam! They're building cybernetic suits!"

"Let me see that." Grabbing the thin device, Sam glared down at the screen. His blood pressure spiked a little, his mouth compressing into a thin line; he didn't like what he saw. The bio-interfacial cybernetic enhancement suits had been a private project going on in secret on base for a few years now. The purpose of the suits was to enable humans to fight on the same level as a Cybertronian- offer the same kind of protection and firepower. If a threat arose where the Cybertronians required more warriors on the ground, then humans could step up on an individual basis to fight instead of flooding the field to overwhelm the enemy. The suits themselves were already built, so all that needed to be perfected was the interfacial business between human and machine.

With the level of technological advancement humans had undergone in the last seven years, it was not out of the realm of possibility that other companies would think of the same idea and act on it. However, to have the technology in the hands of a third party did not sit well with Sam. It probably wouldn't sit well with anyone.

"If they go public with these things before we do, it's going to be a nightmare!" Miles exclaimed. "Not only will the suits be made available to outside military forces, but we came up with the idea first! They don't deserve credit! We do! Our scientists! Our Autobots! Not them! _Us!_"

Yes, of course, because the threat of humans in possession of powerful cybernetic suits that could probably do some damage to a Cybertronian before it was dismantled always came in second to public acknowledgement of who came up with the idea first.

Sam met Miles gaze, frowning. "Does anyone else know about this?"

"Blaster is getting it out as we speak," said the blond. "I think they're going to call for another test of the suits this morning. There's definitely going to be a push to finish them now before someone else beats us to it."

Right on cue, the phone rang. Neither man had to wonder who it was or what they wanted. Sam was being called down to be part of the test simulation.

Wandering over, he picked up the phone, listened for a moment, and then, "I'll be right over." He hung up, glancing back at Miles. "Go get dressed. You're coming with me."

"Mikaela, too? You know she hates it when you get in those things, but she wouldn't want you to leave her out," Miles said, already trotting for the door.

"Yeah, Mikaela too," Sam sighed, heading back to his bedroom to get wake his girlfriend and get dressed.

* * *

Cybertronians didn't dream.

It was one of the things about their species that humans had a hard time understanding. How could anyone not dream? _Everybody_ was supposed to dream. Depending on who you asked, dreams could mean a look into someone's psyche, a spiritual experience, a chance to live a second life. Dreams were the conveyers of messages from dead loved ones, or the link between the world of the mundane and the fantastical world of elsewhere. Dreams were what made you human.

The Cybertronians, of course, were not human. But that didn't mean they didn't have their equivalent to dreaming. It wasn't as fancy or fantastical, but it was all they had.

While they couldn't dream, they could _remember_.

They didn't have control over what memories their mind chose to reel through. It was always random sequences. The memories themselves were whole, un-tampered from how the individual would remember them, but they had no control over what order the memories would play in. There could be memories of war mixed with memories of youth. Good memories and bad ones.

There were a lot of bots whose only escape into good memories was to wait until they recharged and let their minds sweep them away to times that didn't exist anymore.

But mostly there were bad memories. Bad memories that played over and over and over. One bad memory after another. The equivalent of nightmares for a Cybertronian.

Bumblebee didn't have a lot of peaceful memories. He had some good memories, sure, but he had never really known _peace_. Granted, he had been created in a time when peace had been rendered extinct by war. For as long as he had live, there had always been some horrific tragedy happening around him. He had more 'nightmares' than the regular Cybertronian, but he was used to it. It had simply become his way of life to accept that while there was good around him, there was also bad. When he had been learning to sneak around base under Mirage's careful tutelage, a prisoner had been down in the interrogation room being tortured by Jazz. He had learned to shoot from Ironhide while Chromia had been out in the field blasting the heads of Decepticons clean off their shoulders. Sideswipe would teach him to toss daggers, even when the blades were still dripping from a kill he'd recently made.

The older bots had always thought they had shielded little Bumblebee from ever knowing what was really going on, but Bumblebee had been nobody's fool. He knew, in some intrinsic way, that while all the older warriors smiled at him and said nice things, each one of them was stained spark-deep in the energon spilt from the hundreds of kills they had made. Bumblebee knew more than he ever bothered to say, because he didn't want the older bots to stop smiling. They were happy that their little Bumblebee was innocent, and because that made them happy, Bumblebee pretended it was true.

Peace… Bumblebee's first taste of it had been on Earth. It was still an alien concept, but it was something he could get used to.

As he recharged, he remembered things of Earth. He remembered the peace, kindness, happiness, and wonder of the planet.

In his mind, he relieved the first moment he had met Sam. The moment he had driven past the parking lot of the used car place and seeing an awkward young alien with pale skin and brown hair. Bumblebee remembered his thoughts of the moment- how could an alien so small hold something so precious? Those silly little glasses with the map to the Allspark imprinted on them, and Sam had been trying to sell them. Bumblebee had actually thought very little of Sam at that moment, regarding him as a means to an end rather than a friend who would come to mean more to him than his own life. But Sam had done something beyond what anyone would have ever expected a human to be able to do- he had stood up to Megatron and thrust the Allspark into the monster's chest.

The light had been so bright, Bumblebee had been forced to shutter his optics. He'd felt the power of the Allspark wash over him, draining away. Back then, he had thought he had been feeling the death of the Allspark. Now he knew he had been feeling its transformation from one form into another.

In the aftermath, Sam had stood there, dazed, shaking, and not yet completely aware that he had just saved the world.

That memory flowed into another.

Arcee's faceplate appeared. Not the beautiful shape she was now, but the form she had been before. That broken, grey, diseased thing that had been scared and angry and falling apart. It was Christmas time on Earth, and she was sitting in the Lennox family's living room on a pull-out couch. The lights from the Christmas tree glittered off her dull metal, making her look so beautiful, like a rainbow. His spark had ached every time he looked at her. He ached for the pain she lived through, but also ached because she was so strong. Who else could live through what she did and still be sane? He'd known her all his life, and he had always admired her. He had trained under Ironhide with her. Even before they had been separated by the Allspark mission, he knew that he loved her.

Watching her through the living room window, all Bumblebee had wanted to do was hold her. As a hologram, he had come to her. He felt the warmth of the house sink into the matrix of his hologram. He sank into the softness of the mattress on the pull-out couch as he crawled onto it. He revelled in the wonderful embrace of Arcee's too-thin arms as they came around him. She'd held him, and he held her. They hadn't known what the future would bring, if Arcee would even survive, but they had been content to be with each other in that moment.

Another memory, this one full of greenery and sunlight.

It was the month Elita One had spent up at Carnéval under Bumblebee's protection. She had wanted to see where Sunstreaker and Sideswipe spent so much of their time, and Optimus had been unable to refuse her. The summer season had brought sunlight and soft breezes for much of the time they had been there, although two or three storms had crept up off the Atlantic. Bumblebee had thought he would hate the assignment, surrounded by Decepticons he had been fighting against all his life, but the experience hadn't been so bad. Without the war dividing them, Bumblebee had discovered many things about the bots that had once been his enemies- Soundwave enjoyed star-gazing on clear nights while Ravage liked discussing politics; Barricade was a talented sculptor, and Flamewar could easily be as kind as she was vicious.

For most of the month, Bumblebee had been made to sit on the edge of the cliff and act as a model as Elita had painted him with supplies Sunstreaker had lent her. Ravage laid on the ground next to the femme's leg most days, quietly looking back and forth between subject and painting. Sunstreaker had usually sat farther back from the scene, painting Elita while she had concentrated on Bumblebee. Sideswipe liked to take naps under trees, making snorting noises every time a leaf got sucked into his vents. The ocean, so huge and blue and endless, had washed up against the side of the cliff unendingly, sounding like whispers and rain. Salt hanging in the air clung to their metal, and if they stayed still long enough, wild deer would come to them to lick the salt off.

That memory gently faded, coming back into focus as the Banes' dusty backyard.

It was the day Mikaela graduated as a fully certified small engine mechanic. The humans had decided to have a small party, and of course the Cybertronians had showed up. Even giant alien robots liked to have a reason to celebrate once in a while. The backyard wasn't that big, but they managed to fit. No human was stepped on, which generally counted as good in most people's books. To make things easier, bigger bots like Hound, Ironhide, and Optimus had opted to use holograms instead of crowding everyone. The smaller bots like Chromia, Elita One, and Blaster had teased the mechs endlessly throughout the afternoon. Bumblebee had spent most of the afternoon with Sam and Mikaela, happily absorbing their presence. Music blared from every direction, loud, obnoxious, and joyous. Laughter had been everywhere. Smiles on every face.

It had been the day he had used his hologram to go into the house to retrieve something and had witnessed Hound's hologram cornering Chase in a shady corner of the house; they had been laughing, teasing, getting too close. Hound had his arms around Chase's waist, trying to sing her a Taylor Swift song, and Chase had been playfully poking Hound in the chest, informing him that he was a horrible singer. And then they were kissing. Bumblebee had… stood rooted in the doorway, staring in something akin to morbid fascination. Chase had spotted the scout over Hound's shoulder and had ended up punching Hound in the face. She then refused to speak to either of them for the rest of the afternoon. Bumblebee had never told anyone of what he saw that day. However, he still got a good laugh every time he thought of the look on Hound's face after he'd been punched.

So many good memories of Earth.

And some not-so-good memories…

Merowe Dam was not such a good memory. In a cold succession of ice and acid, Bumblebee felt his body be drained of freewill. The Fallen had sunk deep inside his body. Everything had frozen and burned at the same time. Bumblebee had been a prisoner. His frame would not obey his commands. He'd felt the beast moving through him, slick like oil, claws scraping along his insides. He heard whispers in his head. Terrible noises. Laughter and horrible secrets.

He saw Nemesis's faceplate loom in front of his faceplate. That terrible faceplate that looked so much like Optimus Prime, but there was no spark resonance. No life sparkled behind those dead red optics.

Evil so intense that it radiated from him.

With a gasp, Bumblebee shot up from his berth. He scrubbed his hands over his faceplate, only to find his hands were shaking. "I'm awake," he sighed, relieved. After that last memory, he didn't feel like going back into recharge any time soon.

Movement to his left forced his head to jerk around. He was not alone. Watching him was a thing that he could not define. The edges of it appeared to blur into the darkness, as if reality itself could not decide where it ended and the thing began. So large that it filled the whole space of the room, yet so small that it could have been invisible. Many legs but no feet; so many clawed hands, but no arms. A thousand eyes covered its surface, gruesome mouths, flames licking the air with every shift of its indefinable form.

"Are you sure you're awake?" it asked, grinning.

Bumblebee jolted up once more, discovering that the last scene he had just witnessed had been a memory... of some sort. A result of corrupted data, perhaps? No matter. He was awake this time. That's all that mattered.

Someone shifted at his side. Arcee lay there, so beautiful in her black-and-magenta armour. He didn't remember going into recharge with her. She must have snuck in while he was recharging; it wouldn't have been the first time. Her room was on the first floor of the barracks and prone to having insects and rodents run through it. She sometimes stayed with Bumblebee to get away from the pests. And sometimes she stayed because she wanted to be close to Bumblebee.

Unable to resist the need to touch her, he stroked a finger down her side, and then jerked back. Where he touched, the metal turned the same shade of grey as it was when she had been sick. The greyness spread. The metal slowly began to implode inward.

"What? No! No! Arcee!" Bumblebee tried to grab Arcee, shake her awake, but she remained recharging as the disease spread. She was consumed, and then crumbled to dust.

Once again, Bumblebee shot out of recharge with a short scream. This time, he did not remain on the berth. He jumped up and paced as far away as he could from it. When he looked back, he saw that someone laid in the space he had just evacuated. It was solid, liquid, smoke, and nothingness all at the same time. It condensed into Bumblebee's shape, sat up, and looked straight at him with blazing amber optics.

"Are you real?" it asked.

With a gasp, he was sitting up in his berth again. Dizzy. Sick. Confused. Was he awake this time? Still recharging?

An amber gaze as bright as fire watched him, the glow so hot it burned. There was nothing but that burning gaze consuming him.

"It's difficult, isn't it? Trying to decide what's real and what's not. Give up already. The truth is, nothing is real."

This time, Bumblebee did not snap up in his berth. He blinked and suddenly he was sitting in a giant ballroom at a large table. This was not a memory, nor was it reality. It was something else all together. He felt as if he was still his own size, still his own shape, yet he did not feel at all like himself. The ballroom was white-on-gold-gild, with intricate mouldings dancing their way up and down marble pillars. The ceiling was so high it was covered in clouds, and the walls stretched so far apart that they reached one end of infinity to the other. He heard music, and saw naked human men with the legs and horns of goats playing pan flutes.

A human sat on either side of him, exactly his height, but each had the head of an animal- a man with the head of a falcon and a woman with the head of a lion. There was an elephant-headed man with four arms farther down sitting with a giant spider who was politely sipping from a decanter of wine. There were many figures at this giant table, and all of them came in a thousand different shapes and forms, and many had no forms at all. Horns and claws, with mouths of glittering fangs; secrets and riddles dripped from their lips; ancient eyes that saw nothing and blind eyes that saw everything. All were dressed in cloth weaved from myths and dreams, from the tails of rats and the hair of virgin maidens. Skin, scales, feathers, fur, and all the different elements of nature composed them. They were made of thought, imagination, and power. So much power.

Across the table from Bumblebee sat a man. A human-looking man with blond hair and blue eyes; Bumblebee did not know much about human beauty, but knew this man was so handsome that it hurt to look at him. Dressed in fine white linen weaved from white smoke, morning mist, and stolen baby's breath. His eyes, a shade of blue too beautiful to be real, were cold and calculating. There was something incredibly haunting about his gaze, as if he could look into anyone and see their darkest, most hated secrets. The most extraordinary feature about him were his wings. Wings of white so pure they were mesmerizing. Feathers of downy softness, more delicate than any bird feather on Earth. Wingtips that looked as sharp and as deadly as diamond-tipped blades.

On the table in front of him was an ornate silver platter, and upon it was the naked body of Sam Witwicky, his skin broken open in a pattern of twisting, curling glyphs. No blood flowed from him. Beyond the raw gouges carved into the human, fluid blue light pulsed like blood. He laid upon a bed of lettuce leaves, an apple stuck into his mouth and a fork jammed into one of his eyes. The blue-eyed man that sat across from Bumblebee was slowly cutting Sam's heart out, preparing to serve it on bone-white china.

"No, don't do that!" Bumblebee shrieked, horrified. "He needs that!"

The blue-eyed man suddenly looked up and met Bumblebee's gaze. He smiled, and all the angels and devils in the world could not have smiled a smile as beautiful or terrible as that one.

"All is not what it appears to be," said the man.

Bumblebee shot up from his berth, and shrieked in frustration and terror when he still could not tell if he was truly awake or not. He decided he was not awake when he realised a dark figure covered in flame sat at the end of his berth. The flaming thing was pouting.

"You're awake now, so stop fussing," said the thing. "They totally ruined the game for me."

A scream rose up from the depths of Bumblebee's spark. He screamed and transformed his arm, shooting the flaming figure as many times as he could manage. The plasma shot straight through the figure and into the wall, collapsing the whole thing into the hallway beyond.

The Fallen stared at Bumblebee for a good long while as the scout heaved, looking on the verge of madness, and then the Fallen twisted his head all the way around to check out the damage to the wall. There was no wall left to observe. It was a smoking wreck lying crumbled in the hallway. Slowly, the Fallen twisted his head back and continued to stare at Bumblebee.

Finally, he said, "You missed me."

With one last shriek of madness, Bumblebee bolted up and into the hall.

* * *

Sam jumped about a foot in the air as he felt a pair of sneaky fingers pinch his left buttock. Spinning around, he caught Mikaela leaning against the wall beside the door to the bathroom he'd been changing in. She slid up to his side, slipping her arm around his waist. They turned toward the hangar everyone was gathered in for the test run.

"Did you know you have the cutest butt in that outfit?" she said, smiling cheekily.

Sam rubbed his backside, laughing. "Well, I guess that's a small consolation for having to wear this sorry excuse for a full-body wedgie."

Mikaela leaned away, looking him up and down with an appreciative eye. In order to operate the cybernetic suits, users had to wear a specially designed nonconductive neoprene suit, each one specifically designed to accommodate the interfacial ports dotting the body of the wearer. In short, the costumes were over-glorified military-grade wetsuits with built-in wedgies for everyone. And because the Autobots had a strange thing for colour, every neoprene suit was colour-coded to the cybernetic suit the human operator would be using. Sam's colour scheme happened to be blue-on-blue, and he had a sneaking suspicion someone had chosen the colours because of his eyes.

"It's not that bad," Mikaela finally said as she finished her appraisal.

"You always say that," Sam sighed. Nevertheless, he drew her to his side and kissed her cheek.

"And I'll keep saying it until it sinks into that thick head of yours," she replied. "Really, it's not as bad as you think. It's just… different."

"Just so long as you don't say it brings out the colour of my eyes, you can say whatever you want," Sam said.

Mikaela grinned as her hand dropped from around his waist to grope a handful of his backside- his left ass cheek again. "Okay, then how about I tell you that you're almost as sexy in this as you are in your uniform. And I _always_ want to jump your bones when you're in your uniform." She bit her lower lip teasingly as she peered up at him, mischief sparkling in her eyes. "Maybe if you're not busy after the test run, you and I could go back to your apartment and…"

Sam wiggled out of her reach, his cheeks flaming. "Mikaela, _please_, now is not the best time to give me a hard on."

"Oh, dude," Miles voice suddenly intoned from behind them. "I _so_ didn't need to know that."

"Good morning, Miles," Mikaela said, managing to keep her laughter down to a minimum. Sam, on the other hand, could not hide his humiliation. Nor could he hide his jealousy that Miles got to wear a comfortable pair of jeans and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt while he had to wear the circus-costume from hell.

"You ready to be our guinea pig, Sammy?" Miles teased as he jogged up alongside them.

"Do I have a choice?" Sam grumbled.

"Not really, but free will is totally overrated," the blond laughed. "We're the last ones to show up, so we better hurry. I want Sumdac Industries eating our cybernetic dust by noon!"

They picked up their pace to a clipped trot, coming into the appointed hangar through the wide human-sized doors. Already lined up along one of the walls was a small selection of the cybernetic suits that EDC engineers and the Autobots had been co-working on for the last few years. The designs of the suits varied considerably, from the smaller suits no bigger than the human meant to wear them, to the larger built suits that reached up to fifteen feet tall. Their outward appearances had distinct Cybertronian influences, since Ratchet had outright _refused_ to incorporate any human pop culture reference to robotic fighting suits and had forced Wheeljack to agree to the stricture as well.

Sam spotted his suit near the middle of the line up. It was one of the taller models, standing at roughly fifteen feet, the dark blue armour giving it a slightly foreboding look. Standing on either side of Sam's suit were suits of similar build, though the one to the right was painted dark burnt-orange and stood a foot taller than Sam's, and the suit to the left was two feet shorter and painted midnight black. The designs themselves were generic by Cybertronian standards. The armour was functional, the faceplate a basic shape without much detail since the head was more an aesthetic preference rather than an outright need. The human operating the machine would be in the chest, not the head. Wheeljack had admitted that once the testing phase was done and they had all the kinks in the interfacial process worked out, he'd be willing to individualize the armour of the suits to match the users' preferences.

A small crowd was already gathered in the hangar. Ratchet, Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Tungsten were busy doing last-minute checks on the suits alongside human engineers. The moment Mikaela was sighted, twin calls from Wheeljack and Tungsten went up to invite her over to help. Seconds later, Ratchet waved her over with a kind smile softening his normally hard faceplate. Several humans wolf-whistled for her playfully. With a grin and a hug of good-luck to Sam, she ran over and scrambled into Ratchet's palm, more than ready to help out wherever she was needed.

Optimus was also present in the hangar, as were Ironhide and Chromia. The three of them were currently in their alt modes in order to converse with the humans on the ground more easily. Ironhide and his mate were most likely there to check out the warrior potential of humans pretending to be Cybertronians. Optimus was most likely there to keep an eye on Sam. The humans they were talking with were mostly EDC agents, some in regular uniform while others wore their embarrassingly colourful neoprene suits. Tests like this were closed to the general public and to military personnel; it was Cybertronians, EDC, and a few select other humans only. Will and Epps usually had a pass, though neither appeared present this morning. As Sam and Miles approached the crowd, they were welcomed into the fold with some hearty teasing about being late.

"Do you feel up to a test today, Sam?" Optimus rumbled as soon as Sam came close.

"Yeah, I guess," Sam shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "They fixed the insulation on the port needles, didn't they?"

"It was the first thing Ratchet and Wheeljack worked on after that unfortunate accident with Ken," Optimus replied.

"Oh, that's good," Sam sighed. "I hope Ken's doing all right."

Ken Takahashi had volunteered to try out the new interface system that had been recently installed in the suits. The poor guy had ended up electrocuted so bad he was comatose for six weeks. Thankfully, Ken was conscious now, he could remember his name, and could feed himself. The only thing amiss was the fact that he was having trouble remembering English, so he was stuck speaking Japanese and working through a translator.

"Ken will be back as soon as he relearns English. He is a determined man," a deep Russian-accented voice interjected.

Sam peered over his shoulder at the mountain of a man who stood behind him. Ivan Romanov was another agent clad in a neoprene suit. The dark orange shade of his outfit mixed with his black hair, making him look like a giant Halloween decoration. He clapped a large hand on Sam's shoulder and offered a wide grin.

"Since English is all you know, you have much more to worry about, Sam," Ivan said.

"Gee, thanks, that makes me feel better," Sam drawled flatly.

"We could always put a language chip in your head so you never forget," Chromia intoned slyly, knowing the human's discomfort with technology.

A cold chill went down Sam's spine. "And that _really _doesn't make me feel better."

Cutting above the general murmur of conversation came a recognizable "meep meep!" as Tungsten jumped off Wheeljack's shoulder with Mikaela. He transformed halfway down into a hoverboard, allowing Mikaela to straddle him as he glided safely the rest of the way down. Once to the ground, Mikaela jumped off and Tungsten jumped to his feet. The little silver bot skipped his way over with Mikaela trailing behind him. His expression was exuberant.

"Everything looks ready!" Tungsten announced. "Who wants to go first?"

A small woman in a pitch-black neoprene suit stepped forward, her pretty face determined. "I will go," she said.

Miles sighed appreciatively of the woman. "She is so hot."

"Hot for an ice queen," Ivan intoned, nudging Sam. "Isn't that right? Daiyu could freeze a man's balls off with a single look."

"Oh yeah," Sam agreed with a sharp nod. Daiyu Li might have only been five feet tall, but she was capable of kicking the ass of every man in the room. Once she was determined to do something, there was almost no stopping her.

"I'll risk it," Miles said. "Asian chicks are so hot."

Daiyu was only a few paces away before she was stopped in her tracks by Optimus's deep voice.

"Sam will go first," he said. It almost sounded like an order.

"What?" Sam swung around to stare at the flame-painted semi.

Daiyu bristled. "I am just as capable as Ambassador Witwicky."

"I never said you weren't capable, Miss Li. You are one of the most capable operators here. Nevertheless, Sam will go first," Optimus said, and this time it was an order.

"I… oh, fine," Sam sighed. Once again, he didn't really have a choice in the matter. He knew the only reason he was going first was because he had an advantage over everyone else. He was more likely to electrocute the suit before the suit electrocuted him.

Mikaela slid up to Sam's side, her smile encouraging. "You'll do fine."

Hanging his head a bit, Sam stepped away from the group and let Tungsten take his hand and guide him away. The ex-drone transformed into a hoverboard once more and scooped him up, zipping up to chest-height with Sam's suit. Wheeljack already had the chest cavity open, and instead of a sparkcase there was a seat surrounded by a complex web of wires, circuits, and screens.

"In ya go, Sparky," the engineer said merrily, helping Sam into the seat.

Resigned to his fate, Sam buckled himself in and sat back. He nodded to Ratchet, who nodded back. As the hatch of the suit hissed closed, the connecting needles came. Sam braced himself, grunting as the needles pressed through his suit, into the back of his neck, down his spine. Needles pressed into the crux of his elbows, into his wrists, and into the backs of his knees. It was a cool, slick, sliding sensation. The suit whirred to life around him, metal now humming, screens lighting up. Warmth flooded Sam's body as the machine around him began connecting to his bio-rhythms. This was the moment Ken had been electrocuted. Sam closed his eyes, clenching his fists, waiting to be electrocuted.

No electrocution came.

There was a slight burn, a bit of a tingling sensation through his skin. His limbs twitched a bit, but that was the worst of it. Nothing he couldn't handle.

"How are you feeling in there, Sam?" Ratchet asked, his voice echoing in the small cavern.

"Have you been electrocuted yet?" Wheeljack asked.

Tungsten's high voice suddenly rang in, "Do humans explode if they're electrocuted?"

"No," Perceptor replied staidly. "They have muscle spasms, seizures, and burn extremely badly. Consult reports of humans being struck by lightning."

"Please stop talking, all of you," Sam groaned, cracking open his eyes. The large screens in front of him were full of information. He saw the faceplates of the four Autobots staring at him, and behind them he saw Optimus, Ironhide, and Chromia on their feet. The humans watched curiously from the floor. There were screens with lists of information- his power reserves were full, structural integrity was at one hundred percent, but his armoury was empty. No one was stupid enough to arm a cybernetic suit if they didn't know if it would work or not.

"How do you feel, Sam?" Ratchet asked again, shoving the other Autobots away.

Sam took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. In his head, he kept telling himself _I'm human, I'm human, I'm human, _because he was feeling more like a smudge of organic matter in a robot at the moment. His body was a strange mix of tingly and numb; his limbs felt heavy, and yet he was lightheaded. He couldn't move his spine, not with all the interfacial needles piercing it. He accidentally tensed his arms, and little sparks of blue flickered at his fingertips.

"Sam?" Ratchet insisted. He reached out, grasping the shoulders of the suit firmly. It was an odd sensation… Sam couldn't _feel_ it like hands on his own skin, but he _knew_ he was being touched. "I need you to say something, or I'm going to come in there and get you out."

"I'm okay- just getting used to it," said the human. "I don't know if I can move, though. My whole body's numb."

Ratchet's head was nodding on the screens. He looked to the side. "Mark it down, Perceptor- initial numbness in the body." He looked back at Sam. "Anything else?"

"Lightheaded, a little nauseous… and my nose itches," Sam sighed.

"I doubt that last symptom is due to the interfacing. At least your sense of humour hasn't been affected," Ratchet said wryly. "Your vitals look strong. Let's see if we can get some movement, hmm? We'll start small- just move your fingers."

Wheeljack turned over his shoulder to the rest of the humans watching. "Pay attention so you can see how it's done."

Sam stared down at his fingers resting on the arm of the chair, looking haunting under the blue light cast on them from the screens glowing around him. He knew the basics of what was supposed to happen; he wasn't supposed to physically move his arm, he just had to think about it. The interface connections would pick up the electrical signals from his brain and translate it to the cybernetic suit. So he thought of wiggling his fingers, and…

"Oh! Oh! Look at that! He's wiggling his fingers!" Tungsten cheered from Wheeljack's shoulder, clapping happily. "Good job, Sam!"

He managed a little laugh. "It makes my hand feel even more numb."

"That's because the electrical signals from your brain to your hand are being intercepted. It's basically a form of paralysis," Ratchet said absently, his full attention focused on Sam's hand. "Make a fist for me."

With a thought, Sam made a fist.

"Bend your arm."

Sam's arm bent.

"Do the funky chicken!" Miles yelled from the floor, and laughter broke out.

As an experiment, Sam shook out both of his arms. Flashes hot and cold washed through his body, matched by waxing and waning waves of numbness.

Ironhide crossed his thick arms over his chassis, huffing a little bit. He looked intrigued but not overly impressed. "Great, he can flap his arms, but can he do anything else? Is he going to be able to fight in a battle? Can he even _walk_?"

"This isn't like a reformatting, Ironhide," Ratchet snapped. "We've never dealt with anything like this before; we have to take things slow or risk hurting the human." The vicious undertone in the medic's voice clearly said for those who would understand: _we have to take things slow or risk hurting the Allspark_.

"There's no reason to rush such a delicate process," Perceptor intoned severely.

"No reason? Ha! I'll give you _four_ reasons!" Ironhide snorted. "Kremzeeks. Leeches. The Fallen. Unicron. Are those reasons enough to get a move on?"

Mikaela glared up at the weapons specialist, her arms crossed firmly across her chest. The look in her eyes was sharp. "No, those are not good enough reasons for my boyfriend to risk his life for a silly robot suit." She braced her legs apart, her shoulders set back, spine straightening- like she was preparing for a fight. "Go ahead, try another one on me. I dare you."

Chromia chuckled appreciatively, nudging her mate with her elbow. "I don't think she's very interested in listening to any reason you have, Hide."

Embarrassed, Ironhide looked away. He would have started a fight with anyone else but her. "Whatever," he grunted.

Mikaela tossed her hair haughtily. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Sam laughed, cheering for his awesome girlfriend in his head. Moments like these were what made him love her more. "You know," he suddenly said, gaining everyone's attention, "I think I want to try walking. I'm feeling a little more confident about it now." Unfortunately, confidence did not necessarily mean he could do it. One moment, he was thinking about walking… and the next moment, the floor was rushing up to smash him in the face. "Oh shit!"

His fall stopped abruptly as two pairs of strong arms caught him.

"Whoa there, Sammy boy! The floor is not your friend," Wheeljack laughed.

"Didn't I just say to take things _slow?_" Ratchet exclaimed in exasperation.

Together, the two Autobots hoisted Sam back to his feet. The incident completely knocked Sam's sense of balance out, so he was forced to lean against Wheeljack's side to stay upright. His head spun. It felt like his blood was going around like a whirlpool inside his skull.

Optimus frowned, moving forward. "Perhaps we should end the session here?"

Sam held up a shaky hand, waving the Prime away. "It's cool. I can still do this. Give me a second chance- I think I'm getting the hang of this." He straightened, taking several deep breaths. He swallowed down the bile that worked its way up the back of his throat. "Just… little steps this time." He thought of little steps, moving his feet just barely. It was more like a shuffle, his weight still supported greatly by Wheeljack. His first shuffled step was a success, so he tried a second step, and then a third.

"Looking good, Sam!" someone shouted, but Sam couldn't see which human it was. He waved to the crowd anyways.

Wheeljack smiled kindly, watching Sam's feet move. "You're getting better with every step."

"I think I'm getting my sense of balance back," Sam admitted. "It's just different trying to move a suit that weighs several tons compared to moving my own body."

"The suit is differently proportioned from your own body," Ratchet explained. "The legs are proportionally longer and the chest is thicker. It offsets your sense of balance. You will adapt to it, though, it just takes some practise."

"Right." Sam determinedly took several more steps, letting everyone else move out of his way as he shuffled by them.

"Wanna take a loop around outside on the tarmac?" Wheeljack offered. "The area's been cleared of humans, so there's no one out there for you to step on."

Intrigued, Sam nodded and let himself be guided out the wide doors. They were high enough that not even Wheeljack had to duck to get out, though Optimus bent his head a little as he followed with the rest of the crowd. Bright sunlight overwhelmed Sam's screens for a moment, forcing him to close his eyes against the glare. When he could see again, he scanned his screens to assess the new environment. Contrary to Wheeljack's earlier words, the tarmac was not empty.

"I thought you said no one would be out here!" Sam exclaimed, colour blooming across his cheeks.

"No, I said no _humans_ would be out here," Wheeljack laughed. "No one out here is human, now are they?"

"Oh, great, because limiting my public humiliation to only one species makes everything okay," Sam sighed. He looked around at the curious optics all focused on him. It wasn't all the Cybertronians on base, but there was still quite a few of them. There were the twins, both of whom had been stalling their flights back to Carnéval until an ocean storm passed over their coast, and next to them was Bluestreak happily chatting with them. Cliffjumper was close by, while Prowl and Jazz stood off to the side. Red Alert stood near the edge of the tarmac, watching the scene avidly, while Inferno sat nonchalantly on the ground with Firestar, content to sunbathe instead of watch. Blaster was giving Sam an enthusiastic thumbs up, so Sam waved to him.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you looked just like one of us," the microbot said, grinning.

Sam's smile wavered, and he was glad no one could see his expression. "Yeah, I guess…"

"He's kind of ugly, though," Sideswipe pointed out. "Not that he wasn't ugly before, but now he's ugly for a transformer instead of a human."

"My pride is taking such a beating today," Sam sighed.

"We were going for functional, not beautiful," Ratchet huffed, glaring at the red twin.

"If you can't be beautiful, why bother?" Sunstreaker intoned with a roll of his optics. He, of course, looked dazzling under the blazing desert sun.

"Seriously, guys, it's a huge point of pride for me that I can walk right now," Sam cut in.

"Can you walk on your own?" Prowl enquired.

Sam swallowed hard. "I… think so." He just didn't want to test that theory.

"We shouldn't rush things," Ratchet warned once again, frowning.

"Oh, come on, Ratch'- let's get him to take a couple steps," Wheeljack goaded. "We'll catch him if he falls again. He's gotta learn to walk some time, right?"

"_Jack…_" Ratchet growled, but it was too late. The engineer had ducked away from Sam's side, leaving the human standing rigidly where he's been left. Not a single inch of the suit dared to move.

Sideswipe grinned, motioning to the human the same way parents exclaimed over a baby learning to walk. "Come on, Sammy! You can do it! Walk to me now, I'm right here! Walk to Uncle Sideswipe!"

Everyone started laughing, and Sam hung his head. He was absolutely convinced his humiliation couldn't get any worse.

"Stop it, Sideswipe- you're not making anything better," Prowl said. He was the only one not laughing- well, aside from Ratchet, who looked ready to start throwing wrenches.

"This is a proven technique, Prowl! I got Annabelle walk when I did this with her," Sideswipe replied, grinning.

Oh, Sam spoke too soon. _Now_ his humiliation was worse. Determined to prove himself, he concentrated as hard as he could. He focused on taking one steady step. He sensed his leg lifting, felt the weight of the suit shift, and then the leg came down. One slow, steady step. The action repeated with the other leg. Sam stayed firmly upright. Pride and victory flooded him.

"That's my man!" Mikaela said proudly from somewhere around his feet.

Emboldened, Sam dared another step. Another. He faltered for a moment, tipping to the side. Chromia was suddenly there, a strong dusky-blue presence at his side, keeping him upright.

"You're doing really well," said the femme. Praise from her was rare, so Sam took it to heart.

Jazz suddenly jerked straight, his blind gaze sweeping the area. "Hear that?"

The sound of a roaring engine resonated in the air. A second engine, smaller than the first, screamed along the undercurrents of the loader roar. As the sounds grew closer, the shriek of Cybertronian voices rose above it. Arcee's voice was panicked as she shrieked at someone.

Suddenly, a bright yellow flash came fishtailing around the corner. The turn was so sharp, Bumblebee nearly ended up rolling himself. His engine revved again, loudly, like thunder. His whole frame was shaking, every panel of his alt mode heaving. Seams appeared in the metal, then snapped closed. He shattered, and then put himself back together. He looked as if he was having a hard time keeping himself together, caught between transforming and staying in alt mode.

Arcee came bolting around the corner, snapping into her bipedal mode. Her faceplate was panicked. "Catch him! He's having some kind of meltdown!"

In a flurry of movement, Bumblebee was on his feet. He heaved hot air through his vents, frame trembling violently. His faceplate twitched, optics wide and bright yet unseeing. He looked as if he were having some kind of panic attack crossed with a psychotic break. The black smudge on his forehead was festering once more, turned black as midnight, writhing across the scout's armour.

"Am I dreaming?" the scout screamed.

Arcee screamed back, "I told you already, Bumblebee, you're online!"

Bumblebee didn't seem to hear her. His wild gaze darted from one bot to the next as he demanded, "Are you real?"

"What the-?" Sideswipe began.

"_Are any of you real?"_ Bumblebee screamed.

Optimus eased forward slowly, trying not to startle the scout. "We're very real, Bumblebee," he said.

"How can I be sure?" cried the scout. "I thought I was sure, but then I wasn't. I thought things were real, but they crumbled away. Everything crumbles away!" His cannon charged with a loud, desperate whine. He was prepared to shoot anyone in his madness. "I'm still dreaming, aren't I? _Aren't I_?"

"You're not dreaming. Cybertronians don't dream, Bumblebee. We've never been able to dream," Optimus said steadily, still inching forward. As he did so, he messaged the others with orders, some of them moving to cover Sam and the humans, others circling around to pen Bumblebee in.

Bumblebee jumped back, turning his cannon on anyone who looked like they were coming too close. "I was dreaming! I know I was!" He twitched and trembled, wavering on his feet. "If… if Cybertronians don't dream, then I must not be Cybertronian. Because Cybertronians don't dream!"

"Bumblebee…" Optimus tried to say, only to be cut off by the scout's wavering laughter.

"That's it, isn't it? You're real, but I'm not. I'm the fake. I'm not what I seem to be. I'm nobody." The scout's wild gaze landed on Sam. But it wasn't Sam. He didn't see Sam inside the suit. He saw a transformer, moving as if alive, but no spark resonance. No spark. It wasn't alive. It wasn't real. He was still dreaming. None of this was real.

With a panicked shriek, Bumblebee dodged around Optimus and launched himself at Sam, crazy enough to kill.


	13. To Live Through Nightmares

Hey, everyone~ I don't really have much to say right now, so I'll just get on to Thank You Corner, and then on to the actual chapter. ^_^

**TransformersLover95**- Um… are you referring to the cliffhanger? It's kind of what I do. =P Thanks for reading and reviewing~

**Animelover1993**- Oh my Godzilla, my friend, you did two reviews? TWO? That's like… whoa. Epic! XD The first one didn't make much sense, but I certainly loved the second one. XD About the cybernetic suits- within WE, they've been working on them for a number of years, but this is the first time that I've outright mentioned them and got to show them off. Poor Sam is all paranoid because the one thing he wants most in life is to be a normal human, but no matter where he turns, he's stuck being not normal, and almost not-human. He's in therapy for that. ^_^; The reason Bumblebee couldn't sense Sam as the Allspark is because whenever the energy is dormant, no one can sense it. Thanks for reading and reviewing~ You're too kind. ^_^

**Femme4prime**- If you feel bad for Bee now, his torture is only beginning. *evil grin* Thanks for reading and reviewing~ You're too kind. ^_^

**1bloodtepmest**- Awwww, a review as a gift? How did you know that's what I wanted the most! 8D lol~ You're the best for writing it. Thank you so much~ ^_^ The middle scene made sense to you? That's great! (Or that's a sign that you need to check into the nearest psych ward! XD ) Haha, your favourite memory was the one with Chase and Hound? Lol~ Hound was singing Taylor Swift songs because they are the most annoying, sappy, unrealistic, and ridiculous songs ever. I hate her songs, and so does Chase, and thus Hound would sing them to Chase to annoy her. XD Sam most definitely is a buffer between humanity and the transformers- plus, he's just so darn fun to mess with, I can't resist it! XD Thank you again for the wonderful review! You totally made my holidays a thousand times better! *hugs*

**Phoebe Turner**- Thanks so much~ You're too kind. ^_^

**Flameshield**- The cybernetic suits make you think of Gundam? That's cool. I've never actually watched much Gundam, but I know the premise. ^_^; Yeah, the suits in WE are a little bit more involved. I was trying to go for as much realism as possible (as much realism as you can use when working with giant alien robots and all that XD ). As for Prime and someone catching Bee before he does something stupid… be prepared for Bee to wreak some havoc and cause some damage. =P

**CNightJoy**- The chapter wasn't that confusing for you? Oh, that's wonderful to hear! =) The Fallen certainly did have fun torturing Bee… right up until the others from Earth got involved. They totally ruined his fun screwing with Bee. )= Yep, I did indeed mention good ol' Sari Sumdac. ;P She'll be completely human in this series. ^_^

**GBscientist**- My friend, you and I are in total agreement in thinking the Fallen is a complete bastard. Although, I generally think being a bastard is part of his _unique_ charm. XD As for the Seekers, they have been mentioned in the story briefly in one of the earlier chapters, but they will come in more strongly in later chapters. I haven't forgotten about them, I'm just setting up for their grand entrance. ^_^

**Renegadewriter8**- Bumblebee's torture doesn't end here, believe me. I have a lot planned for him. *evil grin*

**KyuubiSango**- lol~ Don't worry, this is real… I think. Hopefully. Well, if you were dreaming, then this would be a very elaborate dream. =P Haha, yeah, I couldn't resist adding the Sumdac's into WE. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. =P

**Juzu**- We'll both have to hope Bumblebee gets sorted out soon… but from the looks of things right now, he's only getting more confused… Thank you for reading and reviewing~

**Violet**- Haha, cliffhangers are like a hobby of mine. =P But don't worry, I totally resolve the cliffhanger in this chapter. Thank you for reviewing. ^_^

**Chloo**- I'll admit I got a little worried that you might have forgotten about the chapter, but I totally understand the idea of family matters getting in the way. When I did see your review appear, I had to do a little dance. XD And of course Miles wouldn't have normal issues! Normal people have normal issues; Miles is anything but normal. XD Sumdac industries is definitely going to play a role in the story, and sometime in the future, Miles and Sari are going to finally come face-to-face again. Whether the world implodes as a result of the meeting has yet to be decided. =P The trippy ballroom scene was just taken from my own mind; I'm a big fan of world mythology and it's a treat to be able to insert it into WE. =P As for Elita One's talk being for naught… you never know. Something of it might remain…

**Bluebird Soaring**- Yep, Bee is in the middle of one big mess right now, and he's only going to get tangled up in it worse in the future… And it's not just the Fallen he has to worry about. There's someone else looking to get a piece of him, as you'll see in this chapter. As for Bee going after Sam… if he were in his right mind, Bee would never do it, but seeing as he's not in his right mind… O_o

Read, Review, & Enjoy~ ^_^

**May We Never Let Go  
****To Live Through Nightmares**

Bumblebee's shriek cut the air like a knife, his wild gaze locked on Sam as he flew into an attack. He just wanted this nightmare to be over! If that meant he had to tear everything apart piece by piece, he'd do it with his bare hands. He'd tear this damned nightmare apart- _starting with that damned sparkles thing! _

"Bumblebee, no!" Optimus bellowed, wrenching down to catch the scout.

Bumblebee dodged to the side, twisting around to jab his elbow up into the Prime's side. As the Prime doubled over, the scout's fist came up and landed across Optimus's faceplate. It was more surprise than actual injury that threw Prime back. Bumblebee darted away as if the attack meant nothing, locking back onto Sam with a crazed vengeance.

"Optimus!" Bluestreak gasped, just as many other shocked Autobots did. He broke rank around Sam and ran for Bumblebee, just as Cliffjumper charged the scout from behind.

"Don't touch me!" Bumblebee screamed as the sniper ran at him. "Don't come near me!"

Cliffjumper hit from behind just as Bluestreak attacked from the front. What they underestimated was Bumblebee's skill, and the fear that was driving him. He was a yellow flash of lightning as he swung to the side and grabbed Bluestreak's arm, whipping the mech around to slam into Cliffjumper. Both Autobots collapsed to the ground. From the ground, Cliffjumper transformed his arm and shot high several times in hopes of slowing Bumblebee down. One plasma blast scraped hard along the scout's shoulder, but he threw himself out of the way for the rest. He turned his own blaster on the mech and shot him twice, once in the foot and once in his arm, putting Cliffjumper's blaster out of commission.

"Damn it!" Cliffjumper roared, shaking out his destroyed arm.

Without even sparing a glance to the carnage he'd done, Bumblebee locked back onto Sam like some psychotic heat-seeking missile.

"_Sam, run!"_ Optimus bellowed.

The command echoed so loud in Sam's head, it made his ears bleed. A part of him didn't want to go. Bumblebee was his friend. His family. _His_ _brother_. He couldn't just leave Bumblebee behind when it was obvious he needed help.

A deeper part of Sam was screaming to run. That tiny, primal, animal side of his brain that saw danger and screamed _get the hell out of there_! He was tiny and Bumblebee was not. He could be ripped apart. Trampled into the ground. Killed.

Instinct screamed to run. Turn. Move. Run. Run. _RUN!_

Immediately, he felt the cybernetic suit reacting to his thoughts. He felt the shift of weight. Hydraulics groaning. Pistons hissing. He felt hot and cold, numbness and prickling sensation wash through him. He didn't feel it like before. It was all distant now, locked down in a quarantined part of his brain. The instinct to run, to survive, overpowered everything else.

Bumblebee kept coming, even as Sam ran. By design and training, he was one of the quickest bots on the tarmac. Paired with the meltdown he was having, it made him especially hard to catch. He feinted around Wheeljack, and then twisted past Ratchet. Chromia immediately leapt in. She caught him by the chest plating, shoving her hand underneath until she felt the warmth of Bumblebee's sparkcase. Usually, that was enough to shock any bot into freezing. Instead, Bumblebee screamed and turned his cannon on the femme. He fired a low-grade pulse; not enough to kill, but enough to sting. Chromia took it to the chest. Sparks flew as she skidded across the tarmac. Her faceplate reflected more shock than pain.

Ironhide bellowed his outrage, moving to yank his mate to her feet.

Arcee continued to shriek for Bumblebee to stop. Her blaster was out, yet she was reluctant to shoot.

His path completely open now, Bumblebee leapt for the empty shell of blue armour that was trying to escape.

Sam had only a second to brace for impact.

Their collision was like an explosion. It shot straight through Sam's suit so powerfully that he felt his heart skip a beat. The world tilted as they went careening to the ground. Sam smashed into the tarmac first with Bumblebee's full weight crushing down on him. All around him came the terrifying, claustrophobic feeling of a mountain collapsing upon him. The sensory overload of so many things happening at once overwhelmed his nervous system. His limbs remained numb, but inside his body, up his spinal cord, into his brain, everything was on _fire_.

For a terrifying moment, the world turned black as Sam passed out.

The shock of a fist coming down on the suit's head jarred Sam back to consciousness. His whole body cramped in one agonizing spasm. His head was throbbing so intensely that he felt like he was dying. It hurt to open his eyes. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to _think_. Even the sound of his blood roaring in his ears was too much. Bone, muscle, and blood felt swollen. The only thing keeping him from exploding was the neoprene suit that was too tight now, squeezing in on him from all sides. Explosions rocked his world. Fists slamming down into the suit.

"_Bee,"_ Sam groaned, forcing the words out even as he tasted blood. "It's _me_, Bee. It's Sam!"

"Go away already! I just want to wake up!" Bumblebee screamed, sobbing. Another fist came down, and then another.

Sam clung to his seat only by the safety belts strapping him in. Every jerk of his body drove the interfacial needles deeper, wrenching him against their sharp presence in his body. His spine was burning. His legs were numb. Suddenly, a prickling sensation raced up his left arm. Forcing his eyes open, he realized one of his arms had been jarred loose from their interfacial connectors. His suit's arm went limp without the connection. One less limb to defend himself with.

A flash of red appeared on either side of Bumblebee: Inferno to the left and Firestar to the right.

"Bumblebee," Inferno said lowly, trying not to startle the bot. He had a lot of experience trying to bring down Red Alert from one of his episodes. "Bumblebee, you have to stop. You're hurting Sam." He tried to reach for the scout's wrist to pull his fist away.

"Get away from me!" Bumblebee shrieked, wrenching his wrist away and tucking it close to his chest. In his mind's optic, all he could see was Arcee beautiful body crumbling to dust at his touch. He didn't want to see that again. "Don't touch me! Don't ever touch me!"

Inferno wisely fell back. "Okay, okay, whatever you want, Bumblebee." His gaze shot to Firestar on the other side of the scout. She managed to get closer, remaining as submissive and unthreatening as possible. Bumblebee snapped his head around and hissed at her, shoving her away. The femme let herself fall over, then calmly pushed herself back up. She was close enough to get a read on Sam, who was thankfully alive but weak. She sent reassurance to everyone else while continuing on her mission to subdue Bumblebee.

Bumblebee canted his head, watching the femme approach. She wasn't freaking out at him, even after he shoved her. She wasn't crumbling like Arcee had. He didn't know what to do about that. Just in case, he extended a blade from his arm, pointing it at her. "I don't want you touching me."

"No touching. I promise." She kept her hands up, palms out. It was her old programming as a pleasure bot that made her good at tasks like these. Manipulating others was second nature to her; she could modulate her vocal patterns, body language, and magnet harmonics in order to make another bot more susceptible to her suggestions. She just had to be extra careful manipulating _this_ bot. Meltdowns made everything unpredictable.

"Sweetspark," she said a calmingly as possible, "If you understand me right now, I want you to know you're having a meltdown."

Her voice was kind of like Elita One's. All soft and soothing. Bumblebee blinked, suddenly aware that he wanted Elita One. He wanted a hug from her, because she would make things better. He wanted her to talk to him and have everything make sense again. She'd know if he was dreaming or not.

Satisfied to know she had the scout's attention, Firestar continued. "You're going to be okay, but I need you to calm down now. That's the only way we can help you."

The words were garbled, as if being said backwards underwater. Bumblebee lurched closer, then fell back. His weight braced on Sam's suit beneath him, causing the metal to whine. The human trapped inside made no noise. There was no other movement. Autobots were tense, but they didn't dare attack with the Allspark placed in such a precarious position. Sam would be too easily trampled by one of them if they made a fatal error.

Firestar didn't dare look away from the Bumblebee, fearing that even looking away might set him off again. She saw the way his optics jerked about, the way his armour shuddered with too much pent-up energy. One wrong move, a too-loud noise… he'd be off again worse than before.

"I know you're hurting, little one," she said. "Your head hurts, doesn't it? Like you can't processes things properly. Nothing makes sense. It's a data error. Your processor can't read the data going into it properly anymore. Ratchet can fix that."

Bumblebee stared at the femme's mouthplates, watching as they moved. The words weren't in sync with the movements. He couldn't figure out if it was because there was something wrong with him or something wrong with her.

"You're going to be okay, Bumblebee," Firestar murmured. "We're going to get through this meltdown together."

Finally, Bumblebee seemed to make sense of the noise that was coming out Firestar's mouthplates.

"_Meltdown?"_ he croaked. Not a nightmare? He wasn't dreaming? It was just a glitch in his processor?

Firestar nodded, keeping her hands up, her frame as non-threatening as possible. "We can help you if you let us."

Help. Help would be good. He wanted help.

Bumblebee nodded his head, looking desperate. _"Help me."_

"That's what we're going to do, dearspark," Firestar assured, smiling. "We're going to touch you now, is that okay?"

Bumblebee first shook his head no. He didn't want to be touched. He didn't want to watch anymore of his family turn to dust and blow away. He rocked back and forth, looking between the empty blue thing trapped beneath him to all the stony-faced Autobots watching him. They didn't crumble. They didn't turn to dust. He looked to one side where Inferno was crouched patiently. He looked as steady as ever. He turned and met Firestar's gaze, who nodded to him. Finally, Bumblebee nodded.

"Okay. Okay, you can touch me now."

Careful and slow, Inferno and Firestar wrapped their hands under the scout's arms and tried to haul him off Sam. Red Alert crept in, taking Sam by the shoulders, carefully dragging the cybernetic suit away. There was a moment of calm when it seemed like Bumblebee would submit to the gentle manipulations of his comrades. His whole frame was limp, his energy gone. He just wanted the whole thing to be over. He was tired now. His head hurt. He was so confused.

As he was brought up to his knees, he locked gazes with Arcee. Relief flooded through him to know she hadn't crumbled to dust. He wanted to yell that he was sorry if he hurt her when he was glitching. He couldn't remember if he had hit her or not. Had he shot her? Then he noticed her shoulders shaking, her amber optics alight with laughter.

_Amber optics_.

"NO!" Bumblebee screamed. The sudden shock of fear bursting through his spark gave him the strength to break away from the Autobots holding him. He swung around and punched Inferno so hard in the faceplate that the larger mech was thrown back.

"Inferno!" Firestar suddenly had both her arms around Bumblebee's neck, a blade poised under the scout's armour, close to an energon line. She was no longer trying to sooth him. Her blade pressed closer as she snarled, "We tried this the easy way, Bee! I don't want to do this the hard way!"

He bucked and twisted under her weight. Red Alert, still trying to drag Sam to safety, was clipped in the faceplate by Bumblebee's thrashing. In the scout's frenzy, the cybernetic suit still partially pinned beneath him was trampled. The empty thing looked like it was trying to curl up in a ball, like an injured animal trying to protect itself. But it wasn't real. Why would it move if it wasn't real? A screech came out of Bumblebee so loud that it forced the nearby humans to their knees, their hands over their ears. He took Firestar by the head and flipped her. Her blade dragged across his energon line. Energon poured out. He shook the femme as hard as he could and then threw her into Red Alert, throwing them both back.

Through blurry eyes and a throbbing headache, Sam watched the scene and his anger built. The world shook, his bones rattled, and his insides burned while Bumblebee mauled the suit he was trapped in. Rationally, Sam knew the Autobots were trying to help him. They wouldn't let Bumblebee kill him. Damn it, he_ knew_ they wouldn't let a damn thing happen to their precious Allspark. But what the hell was taking them so long? He was getting damn tired of being his best friend's punching bag.

Sam felt his rage rise, beginning to boil his blood, and all other feelings began to melt away. The pain, dizziness, weakness all were consumed by the need to hit back.

"I'm dreaming!" screamed the scout. A blade shot out from his forearm, driving into the thick armour of the suit. A screech cut the air as the blade dragged down, ripping the blue metal inside out. "None of this is real!"

The blade was the last straw. Sam's anger snapped.

"I _AM_ FUCKING REAL!" he roared. The right arm of his cybernetic suit came up and smashed dead centre into Bumblebee's faceplate. Blue sparks lit the air where they collided. The hit was so hard, Bumblebee's olfactory sensor caved in, his head flinging back so hard that something cracked.

Not wasting any time, Sam used his one active arm to drag himself out from under the Autobot. Once he was far enough away, he coiled back one of his legs and lashed out. His foot landed in the center of Bumblebee's chest with enough force to throw the mech back. Bright blue light flashed upon impact. Sam felt the minute surge of power rush through him. Bumblebee shrieked. The Autobots poised around the tarmac went rigid, able to feel the shift in the air. It was too much power. Too much rage.

Knowing that someone could seriously get hurt if he got out of control, Sam immediately tried to get control. He felt his heart racing, his skin burning. He felt his blood boiling and his muscles twitching with the overload of alien electricity zapping them. He fought it. Pushed it down. He could feel the power burning all the way to his soul as he locked it down.

The quick but considerable jolt of Allspark energy appeared to have been the kick Bumblebee needed to fully come back to reality. He sat up, his optics confused but entirely sane now. His chest was horribly dented from Sam's super-charged kick. Energon ran down his front. Sparks hissed and spat in the air from sliced wiring. The scout's gaze locked on the cybernetic suit Sam was trapped in, seeing it mangled and oozing energon. Recognition and then horror morphed his features.

"_Sam?" _he croaked.

Suddenly, Prowl and Jazz were there pinning Bumblebee to the tarmac. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe appeared not even an astrosecond later, adding their weight.

"Don't make us do anything we'll all regret," Sideswipe warned.

Bumblebee stared up at that stern faceplate he'd known since forever. Sideswipe, who always smiled and joked, looked battle hardened and angry. Bumblebee turned to the next faceplate, and the next, seeing all of their stern expressions. It dawned on him that he wasn't dreaming anymore. He could think clearly now He had attacked his best friend. He had attacked Sam. _He had attacked the Allspark_.

"Oh Primus, no. _No…_" In his rising panic, Bumblebee began to struggle against the hands that held him. He felt claws dig in. Magnetic force fields flared. Battlemasks were down. Visible optics glared like cold fire. That scared him more. He fought harder.

"Bumblebee, stop resisting," Prowl ordered tightly. "We don't want to hurt you."

"No! _No_!" Bumblebee whined. He tried to sit up. Tried to reach for Sam. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Sam! I didn't know!"

The only thing Autobots saw was a threat fighting to get back to Sam.

Ratchet hauled Sam to his feet, locking him to his side. He turned so his frame was between Sam and Bumblebee. His faceplate was grave as he growled, "Knock him out."

Sam jerked straight, trying to pull away from the medic. With his rage no longer clouding his judgement, Sam could not bring himself to see his friend hurt. Bee had already been hurt enough by the two strikes Sam had landed. Any more would be unfair! But the Autobots continued to grapple with the scout, holding him down, trying to subdue him. They didn't see that Bumblebee was back in his own mind. None of them realized that he didn't want to hurt anyone anymore.

"Sam!" Bumblebee called out, still reaching for him.

Sam tried to reach back, but Ratchet stepped in the way, trying to turn Sam in the other direction. Without meaning to, he gave Ratchet a hard enough shock to force the medic to release him. He ran for Bumblebee as the scout fought the Autobots holding him down.

"Don't hurt him!" Sam ordered. His legs gave out from under him, both from damages Bumblebee had inflicted and his own mind no longer able to focus on keeping him up. He felt Ratchet come to his side again, and again Sam fought him. He tried to shock the medic, but this time he could barely summon a spark. He just wanted to get to Bee before the others did something more to hurt him.

"Sam, it's not safe!" Ratchet ordered.

Sam still fought, reaching for his friend. "No, wait! He didn't mean it!"

Ignoring the human, Jazz and Prowl flipped the scout over. Jazz's hand came down hard on the back of Bumblebee's neck. With a hard magnetic pulse, he overwhelmed the scout's neural net. For a moment, Bumblebee shrieked in pain and panic as his frame seized, and then he went limp as a doll.

"Turn him over," Prime ordered.

As Bumblebee was turned onto his back, his optics still stared up at them. He had not been knocked unconscious, merely paralyzed for the time being. His frame was limp and pliable. His optics darted from bot to bot, utterly helpless now.

Optimus stared down gravely, his spark twisting in his sparkcase. **"This wasn't a normal meltdown, was it?" **He switched to Cybertronian to purposely leave the humans out of this business.

Sunstreaker crouched near Bumblebee's head, his faceplate severe. **"This is the Fallen's handiwork. You can see it in his optics."**

Scared optics staring up at them, too wide. A touch of madness glowing at the edges.

Undeniably the Fallen's handiwork.

"**That mark on his head… It looks bigger, doesn't it?" **Chromia said, staring intently. She had one arm wrapped around her dented chest and the other around her mate to keep herself up.

Bumblebee blinked, making a keening noise. He wished he could say he was sorry.

"**It is bigger,"** Sunstreaker confirmed. The black stain had spread from the scout's forehead, over the crown of his head, and down his neck. Curious of it, the golden warrior reached a claw out to touch it. It felt like dirty oil. Like something tainted and vile. Sunstreaker knew the sensation well.

"**Is the Fallen still here?"** Prowl asked warily, casting his narrow-eyed stare around. Jazz pressed close to his side, one hand holding a slate of armour on Prowl's back tightly. Not out of fear, but to keep Prowl within reach in case the Fallen tried anything more. As if Jazz would be enough to protect him.

"**He's gone… or just not visible at the moment,"** Sideswipe replied stonily after giving a good scan of the desert. His stare lingered on Arcee for a moment too long when he didn't like the reflection in her optics, but it was gone as soon as he tried to focus on it. He sat beside Bumblebee's legs, petting the poor scout's immobile feet. **"You're going to be okay now, Bee. We got you." **

Bumblebee looked ready to cry in relief.

"**And Sam? He took quite a beating… He's okay, right?" **Bluestreak wondered, supporting Cliffjumper against his side. The sniper was relatively unharmed from his encounter with the scout, but Cliffjumper was still swearing over his gun and foot.

The Cybertronians switched their gazes from Bumblebee to the prone blue frame lying on the tarmac. Energon was pooling around the battered frame. Ratchet, Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Tungsten were there. The larger mechs were using their circular saws to cut away the front of the armour. The smaller microbots were pulling the metal back, reaching for the human inside. It took a bit of untangling to get Sam's body away from the safety belts and interfacial needles, but finally they came away with his body slung weakly over Tungsten's shoulder. Bright red blood smeared everywhere.

"**Sam's okay,"** said the little ex-drone, his big optics shining worriedly up at the rest of the Autobots. **"I think he fainted, though. He's bleeding a lot, but we can staunch that." **

Relieved that the Allspark was only unconscious and not something far worse, Optimus nodded and let the small group of medics worry about the human. The Prime turned his attention back to Bumblebee. The scout's optics screamed his remorse as he met Optimus's stare. Optimus was forced to look away.

"**Sideswipe, Bluestreak, take Bumblebee to the med bay and stay with him until Ratchet is able to help him,"** Prime ordered. **"Cliffjumper, can you make it to the bay on your own?"**

"**I could hop if I have to,"** Cliffjumper said mulishly.

"**I'll help him to the med bay,"** Arcee volunteered. **"I was going that way anyways to stay with Bee. I might as well be useful going there." **Her gaze lingered on the yellow bot, her concern obvious. She would be with him even if Optimus ordered her elsewhere.

"**Very well,"** Optimus nodded, then turned to the rest of his Autobots. **"All of the commanders will see me in the Solarium. We need to discuss what just happened. **_**Now.**_**"**

* * *

It took a little bit of poking around the planet, but Psi finally found where Nemesis Prime had wandered off to.

The middle of the Sahara Desert in Libya.

Psi could quickly sum up his first impression of the entire place: it was hot and sandy there. And kind of smelled like camels.

In such a good mood after his little stunt with Bumblebee, Psi took his time sight-seeing the little hidey-hole Nemesis was lurking in. It was a fairly large temple-like place, big enough for someone like Nemesis to walk around in comfortably. The walls, once smooth, were now crumbling from thousands of years of abandonment. Some murals still remained. Forgotten gods and ghosts watched with painted dead eyes Psi passed through the musty halls. Whispers of the past still lingered in the air, trapped forever.

Several thousand years ago, the temple would have been open to the sun and the air. The oasis that once fed the place would have brought life to every corner. In the present time, the oasis was dried up. The sands of time and the desert had crept in and erased the place from human memory. Climbed up and over it, swallowing it whole. Buried a kilometre beneath the sands of the Sahara, it could very well be another couple thousand years before the temple was seen by mortal eyes again.

Where once the halls had bustled with the presence of humans, there was only silence. Pharaohs, priests, scribes, peasants; dead for so long that most of their bodies had turned to dust by now. Only a few remained intact, dead as dead could be as they slept eternally amongst sand, linen wrappings, and old ghosts.

Psi passed through one of the burial rooms, pausing for a moment to examine a golden box which housed a long-dead human. He noted how intricate the goldsmith work was. For such dimwitted little creatures, their death practices were extraordinarily elaborate. A little useless, sure, but elaborate nonetheless. The human inside the golden box must have been important to warrant such exquisite work. The gold was inlaid with turquoise. Paint accentuated the contours of the body the lid was shaped to resemble. Prayers were carved into the lid in a language that Psi did not read, but he traced the glyphs nonetheless. The body should have turned to dust centuries ago, but there was something more than resin and bandages holding the corpse together.

Tilting his head back, Psi took a deep drag of the ancient air and caught the scent he suspected would be lingering in the air. The smell of power. It was a weak scent, mixed heavily with heat and desert sand. It was the smell of a forgotten name; the scent of an abandoned guardian who still roamed the halls. Some poor beast was taking refuge down here in the darkness where it could live out the rest of its sorry existence amongst the remains of its dead worshippers.

Psi curiously looked about, but saw no sign of the hiding creature.

Through the dark came a familiar deep voice. "Psi, are you there?"

Psi canted his head, looking in the direction the voice had come from. Pitch darkness did not impede him, but there was one direction that appeared darker than what was natural. That would be the direction the leeches would be in. With the leeches would be Nemesis Prime.

"I'm here," He called. He glided out of the room, back into the painted halls, and slithered through the darkness following Nemesis's trail until he came into a gigantic cavern. It was a naturally hollowed out cathedral of rock built out of the cliff the temple had been backed up against. Within the cavern, the darkness was absolute.

Rattling moans echoed through the empty cavern in between the sound of morose shuffling. Through the gloom, Psi saw a small horde of energy leeches shifting around listlessly. Interspersed between them were flashes of multicolour lightning, the kremzeeks excitedly zipping around their partners. The small horde caught sight of Psi and began to shuffle to the farthest side of the cave, their moaning growing in volume and agony. The poor bastard creatures. Caught between here and there, they were not dead and not alive. The sparks that had once lived in their frames had already. What was left behind was the legacy of Shockwave: mutated mindless beasts whose every moment of existence was fraught with unending agony.

Psi smiled to the moaning horde, giving them a friendly little wave. He could sense the energy they were bloated with. Nemesis must have taken them out to feed recently. Psi was in such a good mood, he decided he was going to do something nice for them for a change. He winked, and the whole horde disappeared. They reappeared in the altar room within Psi's ship body, where Unicron's sleeping form laid. In a matter of seconds, the energy leeches and kremzeeks were consumed by the black hole that was the Unmaker, their collected energies devoured and made into Unicron's own. The agony of the poor beasts became no more as their existences were erased from the world.

Psi laughed to himself, pleased with his little show of mercy.

Deeper into the cave, sitting on a natural throne of jagged rock, Nemesis Prime watched his keeper. "Where have you been?" he asked, watching as Psi slithered, twisted, and churned deeper into the dark cavern. Not many could comprehend the full form of Chaos and not be driven insane by it, but Nemesis got along just fine.

"Everywhere and nowhere," Psi replied vaguely.

Nemesis nodded pensively, continuing to watch with smouldering red optics.

"This is a beautiful temple, Nemesis. I like it," Psi commented. He let his amber gaze rove about the cavern, perhaps searching for any sign of its previous tenant. He could smell the creature, but the scent remained brief and fading. When he could find nothing more of the creature, he asked, "What's your interest in this place?"

"Having a base on Earth is more convenient than going back and forth between the surface and the atmosphere. We conserve energy if we operate from here. This place is concealed from humans, which is an added bonus," Nemesis explained, leaning back in his stone throne. It was not a perfect seat. Knife-edged blades of sharp rock dug into him. No matter where he shifted, there was always a sharper rock to be found, as if the Earth itself did not want him touching it.

Psi condensed into the shape of a Cybertronian so he could nod along. "Yes, that makes sense." He gestured to all the space around them. "What about the original owners of this place? Was it abandoned?"

"It was surrendered." A strange glint came into Nemesis's deep optics- the glint that usually gave Psi the creeps. "I didn't give her much of a choice."

Once again, that unpleasant creeping feeling slithered down Psi's consciousness. As ever, Nemesis Prime retained strangeness about him that he could not pin down. He chose to push those thoughts aside and ask, "What else have you been up to? Those leeches I sent away were recently fed."

"I took them to Hibernia," Nemesis replied.

"The Atlantic oil fields?" Psi wondered, intrigued. It was close enough to an established Cybertronian outpost that it was generally too much of a headache to bother with it.

"Yes. The oil rig was left completely open in the midst of a particularly severe ocean storm; the Cybertronians at Carnéval were unable to intercept me," Nemesis reported.

Psi canted his head, mildly impressed by Nemesis's initiative. "And how did that work out?"

"The leeches and kremzeeks decimated the rig," Nemesis said, the edges of his mouthplates curling up.

"Beautiful," Psi praised, applauding. "You've already hit nearly a dozen sites over the last two months. The energy you've managed to collect has been invaluable in returning Unicron to his former glory."

"Thank you," Nemesis murmured quietly. "How much more energy is required to restore him completely?"

"I don't know... As much as needed, I suppose," Psi sighed, shaking his head. "Considering his normal diet consists of planets... we're really going to need that Allspark. Without the Cube, it's like we're feeding him drops of water from an eyedropper."

"That is unfortunate," Nemesis intoned, frowning. "However, I think you forget one valuable detail."

"What could that be?"

"You said we need the Allspark, yes?"

"Yes."

"Well, you seem to forget that the Allspark will be _worthless_ to us all if it is destroyed."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Psi demanded, huffing a little.

Menace laced through the Dark Prime's voice as he said, "You don't think I didn't know about that little meltdown Bumblebee had all over Sam? A meltdown _you_ orchestrated. You could have killed the Allspark." A fist slammed down on the stone throne so hard the rock crumbled and the cavern trembled. "Are you _insane_, risking everything like that? We could have lost everything because of you."

Unable to hold his form any longer, Psi's true nature swelled outward. "I would watch what you say and how you say it, you little speck of nothing.I am not some dolt who knows nothing of the universe; I've been at this game far longer than you. Longer than what you can imagine. Whatever my issues are with my memory, they are of no consequence to how I play the game. The Allspark would _not_ have been destroyed because of something I orchestrated."

Nemesis glared hotly, his optics churning like lava. "You've become careless in your old age, Entropy."

"And you are naïve in your youth, _Nothing_," Psi hissed. "I am playing this game with intricacies you could never begin to understand."

"I comprehend a great deal more than you give me credit for," Nemesis spat. "I am not some pawn to be toyed with. Your arrogance will be your downfall, just like it was _hers_." He abruptly stood from his stone throne. "Now if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than to be in your company." He was gone before anything more could be said.

Psi glared at the space Nemesis Prime had just disappeared in. "I wish I built your head on backwards," he grouched.

Somewhere above him, sands shifted in the hot desert winds.

In the empty silence left in the wake of Nemesis's departure, Psi remembered the poor damned creature of the temple that must have still been hiding.

"_Hello?_" He called out, then frowned when he got no answer. "Oh, wait, you probably don't speak Cybertronian, do you? Um… Bonjour? Hola? Hallo? Konichiwa?" Nope, still no answer. "Wait, do you speak Latin? Salve?"

Still no answer aside from the echo of his own voice.

"I don't speak Egyptian," Psi sighed.

It was far too quiet in the temple. It felt too empty. That strange glint in Nemesis's optics came back to haunt him.

Someone had paid for their arrogance here...

Psi felt a dread touch of unease slide through his black spark. The smell of power was strongest in the air here, but still fading away. He hadn't noticed it before, but the stench of death was beginning to permeate the air.

"_Hello?"_ Psi croaked, unwilling to believe the impossible. He crept toward a corner where the sickly bittersweet stink of death came from the strongest.

The first to appear in the gloom was an arm with no flesh, and next to that was a foot whose bones were torn through the skin like splintered white claws. Legs torn off and cut open; bones, muscles, and sinew cut out by some curious hand looking to see how everything fit inside. Chunks of hair with the scalp still attached lay in the sand. Fingernails and toenails were scattered about like chips of grisly ice. Chunks of the body laid everywhere; they were mutilated in every way possible, done so in a way that looked childlike in their fascination.

Psi came to rest at the side of the headless torso, staring down into the opened chest cavity. The creature may have chosen a humanlike shape to appear as, but the lack of blood was a testament to how inhuman the corpse was. The ribcage had been cracked open and spread apart like the wings of some nightmarish butterfly. Individual ribs glistened too white in the dark; pieces of flesh, muscle, and membranes still hung from the bones. There were no internal organs, save for a heart that was slowly disintegrating into sand. Psi picked up the decapitated head and cradled it in his arms. By the looks of what remained, it was a female. She wore a crown in the shape of a scorpion. Psi stared down at the death mask that had come over the woman's face; one final grimace of pain and terror as life drained from her.

He had never met the woman, but in touching her he knew that she was called Selket, deity of scorpions and magic.

Well, _former_ deity, anyways...

"This… isn't possible." Psi could hear his own voice cracking.

In his arms, the corpse was already returning to the sand from whence it came. In a few moments, it would be as if she had never existed.

This wasn't his first kill. He had killed many in his long life, some in the name of his master and some for his own entertainment. He had seen powerful deities hold on long after their miserable planets had been devoured by Unicron, and Psi had taken delight in snuffing out their hope and then their lives. But that's just how life was. It was how the game was played. Mortals… mortals had no place. No matter how weak the being, no matter how forgotten the name, any kind of deity still should have been able to put up a fight. They never should have lost. A mortal shouldn't have been able to do this.

He clutched too desperately to the head and a little bit of it disintegrated back into sand.

He stared down into the wretched face trapped in its final scream of death, and he shuddered.

_Death_ was so final for his kind.

Deeply disturbed, Psi changed himself so that he had enough arms to carry all the pieces of the goddess. He held her more carefully than he had ever touched anything in his life. In spite of the care he took, she still dissolved. The scorpions came for their patron. They lined the floors, the walls, and the ceiling. They mourned in the way only scorpions could. They threw their pincers up, clicking furiously. As Psi came, they parted like the sea for the passing of their patron's body, bowing their tiny, armoured bodies, laying their deadly tails to the sand in respect. It was a long procession that Psi felt miserably humbled by, knowing that if he were ever killed, there would be no one to mourn his loss.

By the time Psi made it back to the surface, full night had fallen. A frigid wind blew. The moon glared down with its one unblinking eye, and a jackal howled to the distant stars.

Psi lifted his many arms to the sky. A softer breeze came. It was almost warm, tender, and smelled of power and mourning. At its touch, Psi's burden was lifted. The corpse released its form with a soft sigh, becoming glittering sand carried away on the breeze. Psi watched her be scattered into the four winds. It felt like a matter of seconds before she was completely gone. No matter what the stories said of bringing the dead back, they were just stories. No one came back from this.

With a sigh, Psi dropped his gaze from the endless sky. He had no spark, but his chest ached anyways. That could have been him. He could have been the one who ceased to exist.

Others had come to pay their respects. They were gathered at the tops of the sand dunes, standing between the stars. Hundreds of them. Thousands. Too many for Psi to fight on his own.

On the winds came his name in every manner of hiss, howl, snarl, and curse.

"_Non occidet illam_," said the Guardian of Entropy. Latin, the only Earth language he could speak properly.

Atop the dunes, the sands shifted as creatures from every manner of imagination grew in agitation and restlessness. Glittering eyes narrowed. Wings, fins, and robes flapped. Fangs and claws flashed. Swords scraped and lightning flashed. Should a human have happened to wander upon the scene, only the night sky and endless sand would be seen, though he would feel the menace in the air straight through to his soul.

A white-winged man stepped forward from the glaring crowd, his blue gaze blazing like fire in the night. Psi bristled, assuming the form of an armoured Cybertronian in the eventuality of a battle. He knew that creature a little too well for his liking. Should there be a battle, he was the one Psi was most wary of.

"I didn't kill her," Psi repeated, this time saying it directly to the white-winged creature.

"You may not have killed her by your own hands, but you are responsible for the existence of the monster that did."

Nemesis Prime was a monster.

Psi bowed his head, curling his claws into fists. "I can fix this."

With a single flap of dawn-bright wings, the human-shaped creature stood before Psi with furious eyes. He was not even a breath away, eye to optic. "You _will_ fix this."

"I will need time."

The winged man cast his gaze around, conferring with the others. He then turned back to Psi. "One Earth year. Should you fail to destroy the Nemesis Prime in that span of time, we will take matters into our own hands. You, your master, and every life that has ever walked the surface of Cybertron will not be safe. Do you understand?"

Simultaneously furious and forced to obey, Psi inclined his head. "I understand."

* * *

Bumblebee could hear Sideswipe and Bluestreak in the hall. They were sitting right outside his door, making sure he didn't freak out again. He wasn't in the brig, which was a small blessing. He'd been carried to one of the secure rooms in the med bay. One of the rooms meant for unstable patients, meaning _he_ was an unstable patient.

Even though the walls were thick, Bumblebee could hear snatches of what was being said. He could also make out Arcee's voice. He wanted to call out to her, to apologize to her, but his vocal processor was still paralyzed from earlier. He couldn't even go to the door to see her. All he could do was lay there and listen to snatches of conversation. If he focused too hard on them, he could almost hear the twitching of their frames as they moved. Focus too much, and he could hear the beating of their sparks.

A whisper sounded like a shout.

His head throbbed. His optics felt scratched and cracked. His tanks churned, on the verge of purging. There was nothing in his tanks to purge, though. He'd emptied his tanks contents shortly after he'd regained some movement in his limbs.

He didn't have full movement back yet. His legs were still mostly numb, but he as regaining movement in his arms. He wished feeling wouldn't come back, though. He preferred the numbness. As it wore off, his hands throbbed and burned. He stared down at his scraped and oozing fingers and could only see himself attacking his fellow Autobots, attacking Sam, as if seeing it from a great distance.

It was _his_ fist slamming into Optimus's faceplate.

_His_ blaster shooting up Cliffjumper's foot and gun arm.

_His_ blade raking down Sam's side.

He remembered it all, but so vaguely. Like a stranger's memories. Recalling it as if it were a…

Not a dream.

NOT A DREAM.

_He wasn't dreaming, damn it!_

It was a glitch in his programming. It happened to everyone. He shuttered his optics for a moment. A little bit of calm would do him some good. He had to stay calm or the glitch would only get worse. He'd have another meltdown and hurt someone else.

He cycled air shakily. His mind was so muddled. He couldn't think straight. It was hard keeping his thoughts in order…

Sam? Where was Sam? Was Sam alright?

Was Arcee still outside in the hall with Sideswipe and Bluestreak? Did she think less of him now, because he'd had such an out-of-control meltdown? Did Sideswipe and Bluestreak think he was weak now? Oh Primus, what did the others think?

Optimus Prime… What did Optimus Prime think of him?

…why did the wall across from him look like it was melting? The plain grey metal was turning black and tar-like, melting and swirling. Two bright beacons of red light appeared in the swirling mass. He _knew_ those optics. The optics that had stared into his own and told him they were brothers.

Cold washed through him. Sickness. Panic. Terror.

"_Heh-!"_ Bumblebee coughed, trying to scream for help. His vocal processor was still paralyzed, leaving him mute. _"Heh-!"_

Nemesis Prime stepped into the room and looked about. Despite the dark energy that rolled off of him, he looked nonchalant standing there. He nodded to Bumblebee, acting as if the scout were not having a complete freak out on the berth.

"Is this seat free?" he asked, nodding to the chair Bumblebee had not noticed before.

"_Heh-!"_ he tried to scream.

"I'll take that as a yes," Nemesis intoned, politely taking a seat. He raised an optic ridge and waved a hand dismissively to Bumblebee. "Please, don't tax yourself trying to scream- it looks painful."

Bumblebee tried to push himself up with his arms, dragging himself to the end of his berth. His legs were still numb. Useless! He fell to the floor in a painful heap. He tried clawing his way to the door.

"_Heh-!"_ he coughed. _"Heh-elp!" _

"Did I mention that they can't hear you? It's no use trying to call for anyone," Nemesis intoned, watching Bumblebee with mild interest. "Here, let me help you with that. It looks like your legs aren't working right at the moment."

Bumblebee fought as hard as he could against the strong hands that came around his arms, lifting him with ridiculous ease. Nemesis's touch was colder than death. A living corpse. In one smooth movement, Bumblebee was deposited back on his berth. Nemesis reached up and patted Bumblebee on the head in a disturbingly fond gesture, running his cold palm over the wonderful splash of diseased black that festered across the armour. And then, without a word, Nemesis returned to his seat and sat down.

Bumblebee whimpered, curling up in as tight a ball as he could. His weapons weren't active. He could barely move. Couldn't call for help. He was trapped.

Nemesis sighed. "Look at what he's done to you. I never would have approved of this- such barbaric methods." He met Bumblebee's wild stare, and then nodded, as if reading the scout's thoughts. "Yes, the Fallen was with you earlier. He orchestrated the catalyst to your meltdown- something he has a talent for."

Bumblebee could only bring himself to stare in horror.

"I really must apologize for Psi. He's powerful, I'll give him that, but his own nature works against him," Nemesis said with a disapproving shake of his head. "Reaching out to you requires finesse, not some crude inversion of reality. You are a delicate creature, mentally speaking. But you know how it is with creatures like him- they think they're infallible. You can hardly reason with them. Useless bastard things."

A keening noise rose from Bumblebee. He felt like he was going to pass out.

Nemesis remained strangely pleasant in a menacing sort of way. His gaze lingered a little too long on Bumblebee's head, on the mark spreading across his armour. "I see you've had a chance to think about what I said before."

Bumblebee shook his head, looking away.

"There's no need to be embarrassed, little one. Everyone is curious about where they come from. It's only natural, especially for someone of unique circumstances like yourself." Nemesis leaned forward a bit. "I can help you understand everything. I can answer all those little questions brewing in your mind."

"_No,"_ Bumblebee managed to say, his voice hoarse. It hurt trying to speak. Shame weighed heavily on his frame. Despite what Elita One had told him- that what he was did not matter compared to who he was- he still could not resist thinking about Nemesis's words. Could he truly be so different from regular Cybertronian sparks? Did his spark really come from a different place than everyone else's? He didn't want to think about things like that, but he did it anyways.

"You're scared, I understand that," Nemesis Prime said, mockingly sympathetic. "Anyone would be scared if they were put in the position you are in now. You're standing on the cusp of an extraordinary truth."

Bumblebee's gaze flickered to the Dark Prime before he could stop himself.

Nemesis's burning optics flashed a little bit brighter. "You don't have to be afraid of the dark anymore, Bumblebee. It's where we come from. It's what we are."

"_No,"_ Bumblebee said, even as a part of him continued to listen. A part of him wanted to believe the Dark Prime. A small, quiet part of him wanted the answers he had always looked for but never found. There was a part of him that wished Nemesis wasn't lying. Even if they were bad answers, they were still answers to both who and what he was.

Nemesis seemed to sense that desperate need, because his mouthplates curled up gently. "Why do you think you've always done so well in war? Where others twice your experience and ability have fallen, you've survived and thrived. You've done better for yourself than any other Cybertronian in this war. Haven't you ever wondered why you never went insane on the battlefield? Why war is comfortable for you but peace leaves you restless?"

Bumblebee looked away. It was true. He lived in war much more easily than he lived in peace. He'd never wondered about it before, but now he did.

A hand touched his. He stared down at it, then followed the hand up the arm to the faceplate attached. Nemesis had moved his chair closer without him noticing. Now they were so close he could see the diodes in Nemesis's optics moving. He looked so much like Optimus Prime that is frightened him and made his spark ache.

"_Why?"_ Bumblebee croaked. Why was he the way he was?

"It's because of the nature of your spark. You belong in the darkness, with me," said the Dark Prime. "You come from the same empty places I come from. We have the same nature."

Bumblebee cleared his vents, forcing his vocal processor to work. _"Why… are… you…doing… this?"_

Nemesis's squeezed the hand that he held. It was so weak in his grasp. "Because you are my brother."

Bumblebee stared down at their connected hands.

"We are alike in so many ways, we belong together. I can give you the family and answers you have always wanted. Come with me and I can give you everything you have ever wanted."

That sounded like such a nice idea. Bumblebee continued to stare down at their connected hands, mesmerized by the sight. Dark armour wrapped around the light, almost completely engulfing the light. The touch was drugging. Bringing an ease to his mind and spark that he had not felt in a long time. It made him want to agree to anything Nemesis had to say. In that moment, he wanted to be Nemesis's brother.

Nemesis's optics glittered as he watched the stain on Bumblebee's armour slowly slither downward. He leaned in, his mouthplates floating close to the scout's audios. "The femme, Elita One, she can tell you many pretty things that you might want to hear, but what good are they if they are all lies? She was the one who deleted her memories of you. She cast you aside. Can she really care for you if she has no idea who you are?"

Bumblebee gasped quietly, trembling.

"And Optimus Prime- think of what he's done to you. Or more correctly, think of what he's _never_ done for you," the Dark Prime continued. "He dragged your spark into his world, but did he ever give you the family you deserved? Never once in your whole life did he acknowledge you, did he? He just pushed you aside and never said a word about where you came from. Do you think he was ashamed of what he did? Maybe he was ashamed of _you_."

"Ashamed… of me?" Bumblebee croaked. There was something about the Dark Prime's words that wasn't right. They were twisted in a way that did quite match up with memory. He wanted to say something in defence of Optimus Prime and Elita One, but so long as Nemesis's hand held his, his thoughts floated away like mist. All he wanted to do was listen to that deep, resonating voice.

"And what about the other Autobots? What do they think of you now, after you attacked their precious Allspark? The way they treated you was so cruel. They probably want to delete their memories of you, too- just like Elita One did. That's probably what they're doing right now. And poor little human Sam. You could have killed him today. Do you think he'd want to be brothers with a bot who tried to kill him?"

"F-Fallen made me…"

"Psi only showed you things that would frighten you and make you question what was real and what was not," Nemesis said with a little shake of his head. His voice was so entrancing… "He never pointed you in the direction of the Allspark. That was all you. Some deep, dark part of you wanted to kill Sam."

"_No!" _Finally, Bumblebee found the strength to jerk his hand away from Nemesis's grasp. His thoughts suddenly cleared. He would _never_ want to hurt Sam. What happened on the tarmac had been an accident; he'd been confused. If he had been in his right mind, it wouldn't have happened. Nemesis went too far in trying to get him to think otherwise.

Nemesis eased back, his gaze assessing. "Ah, so you draw the line there, do you?"

"I… love Sam." He coughed, finding his vocal processor finally smoothing out and coming back to life. He glared at the Dark Prime with as much fire as he could. "I… promised Elita I wouldn't f-forget who my family was. You won't…make me forget."

"Who says I want to make you forget?" Nemesis said, offering an unfriendly half-smile. "I only want to show you the truth." He rose to his feet in one graceful slide of darkness. "I'll take my leave now, but I want you to think about what I've said. A part of you knows I speak the truth." His gaze flickered to the dark stain, now stopped in its tracks. His gaze then returned to Bumblebee's optics. "Call me when you're ready to talk."

He stepped back and was gone in the same way he had first appeared.

Bumblebee fell to his side and curled up again, the last of his energy completely gone. He wished desperately for the nightmare to be over, but he had a terrible feeling it was only beginning.


	14. To Dream II

I have three people I really want to thank for helping me with this chapter: John Milton, writer of _Paradise Lost_, Neil Gaiman, writer of the _Sandman_ series, and **FunkyFish1991**, the official artist of WE, who encouraged me to use "the winged man" character in this series rather than hint at him from the background. You three are inspirations!

**Renegadewriter8**- I don't think you're the only one looking forward to the day Nemesis gets what's coming to him. It may be a while yet, though. =P I figured you might enjoy that little bit of JP fun in the chapter. Jazz and Prowl are too much fun not to give them lovely little scenes like that for their fans. ^_^

**Dazja**- Bumblebee has quite a few ups and downs in store for him in the future. He may get back on his feet soon, but there's no telling when he'll fall down again… Hopefully this new chapter will live up to your expectations. ^_^

**Phoebe Turner**- Thank you so much~

**Goldendreams257**- lol~ Thanks, I try. =P

**Animelover1993**- Wow, I'm happy to hear that writing and portrayal of Psi and Nemesis have the ability to inspire such amazing emotional outbursts. They're two characters that are so much fun to hate! XD I'm definitely not done torturing little baby Bumblebee with them yet! =P As for the "Guardians of Earth"- you're semi-right, I suppose. They go by various titles, but they're creatures that certainly don't like it when outsiders get up in their grillz. XD

**CNightJoy**- Bumblebee needing therapy right now is definitely an understatement. Poor guy doesn't know where to turn or who to turn too. =( As for who the winged man is… you'll find out in this chapter. Hopefully you'll be surprised. ^_^

**Violet**- Awwww, it's wonderful that you enjoy the mixture of Earth and Cybertronian mythology in the story. It's so great to hear that readers like it. Thank you so much for reviewing with your thoughts. =)

**JenEvan**- Nemesis Prime surely does have a knack for messing with people's minds; it's one of his greatest talents. Part of the inspiration for his character in WE actually comes from the evil god Nyarlahotep from H. P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu mythos, which I have a soft spot for. =P As for Psi showing compassion for anything… it wasn't really compassion. It was shock. Above all things, he fears his own death the most, and when was faced with the fact that Nemesis Prime, a lowly mortal, could kill him like he killed Selket, Psi cracked a little bit. .

**Juzu**- I'm so glad that you enjoyed the chapter! Thank you so much for reviewing~

**1blood-tempest**- It really is fortunate that it was Sam in the suit rather than anyone else. You could almost call it fate… =P As for the Fallen and Nemesis- they're both dirty little schemers. Awful creatures they are. . Nemesis may have been originally created to oppose Optimus Prime, but he's slowly exceeding his original programming. When Unicron and Psi pulled Nemesis's spark out of the abyss, they got more than they were bargaining for. Nemesis has his own agendas to take care of…

**Chloo**- The meltdown scene was a pretty intense one to write, so I'm glad the intensity got across to you. There was a lot of POV switching, but I really wanted to include everyone in the horror of it. As for your question of how many Autobots think of the Allspark before they think of Sam… it's actually a very good question, but I'll leave the answer up for interpretation. Who do _you_ think would consider the Allspark before they considered the human? If you're wondering who the 'sexy winged man' is, you'll find out in this chapter. I'm so excited to hear your reaction! XD Omg, you've got Nemesis to a tee. He's one of the smoothest smooth operators around. He's a devilish fiend, he is. *evil grin*

**Flameshield**- Yeah, Bee getting kicked around like a poor little puppy right now. But he's a strong bot. He'll survive… hopefully. O_o Thank you for reviewing~

Read, Review, and find the Revelations! (Oh, and I don't mind Reviews either!) ^_^

**May We Never Let Go  
To Dream II**

The Solarium was packed full of colourful, anxious Cybertronian bodies. Though the building was designed to accommodate creatures of their size, it was still a stretch to fit all of the base's present commanders into the greenery-filled room. They might have had enough room if the Solarium had been empty, but with greenery pressing in from all sides, there was some serious competition for space. High noon had risen not long before, with the unforgiving sun beaming down on them through the glass. Cybertronians weren't as heat-sensitive as humans could be, but they were definitely feeling the burn today. Humidity weighed down on their armour like a damp, smothering blanket. To increase the claustrophobic feeling, Cybertronian sentries stood along the outsides of the Solarium, each standing like a heavy wall of foreboding metal.

Optimus cast his solemn gaze over the small gathering of Autobots who had heeded his call.

Ironhide was present, sitting on the floor. Under normal circumstances, he would never deign to sit on the floor for anyone. For his sparkmate, he did so with little fuss. Chromia had required a stable seat to sit on for Ratchet to be able to work on her damaged chest. So there Ironhide was on the floor with his mate balanced on the wide expanse of his back, Ratchet hunched over to repair what he saw fit.

Wheeljack looked on with on optic ridge raised. If the occasion hadn't been so serious, he might have laughed.

Red Alert and Mirage stood back from the group, nearly hidden from view by a wall of drooping green vines dotted by delicate white flowers. They were leaning close to each other, murmuring quietly. Their expressions were closed down, their frames tense. Mirage, never a mech to be forthcoming about his emotions, looked tenser than he normally did.

Jazz and Prowl sat together at the ornate garden table that had been designed for Elita One, leaning closer to each other than what they normal dared in public. Their hands were linked beneath the table. Prowl was silent, most likely thinking of everything that had just happened and everything it could mean for them. Jazz was leaning forward to speak softly with Elita One, who sat directly across from him. The femme may not have been a commander any more, but she was still an honorary part of the meeting. And besides, no one had the spark to turn her out of her own solarium.

On the tabletop sat Blaster, and next to him was a human-sized cot for Sam's body.

Dr. Spring had only left minutes before, having been ushered in to make sure Sam was alright. It had been a great relief to know that Sam was physically stable. The armour of the cybernetic suit had done its job protecting him from most harm. Aside from the fact that some of Sam's ports needed internal correcting, there was no outstanding internal damage. Even Sam's unconsciousness was ordinary- just a good old fashioned faint from being overwhelmed. He would be okay as soon as he slept the trauma off. For his comfort, Sam's neoprene suit had been replaced with clean scrubs and his ports had been patched up with gauze to catch the occasional bead of blood leaking out.

Optimus nodded to the scene, touching the side of his faceplate where he sported a shallow dent. The metal would pop itself out in a few joors, and considering that he had suffered far worse wounds in the past, this one hardly left a sting. However, the fact that Bumblebee had been the one to deliver the blow still shocked him. Many things that had just transpired with Bumblebee left him shocked.

Cutting through the relative silence of the Solarium came Chromia's loud grunt as Ratchet reached inside the femme's open chassis and jerked the concave armour out. He did it several more times until the worse of the denting was forced out. Each jerk was followed by a heavy grunt.

Ratchet rocked back on his heels, surveying the end result. "Give it an orn to smooth out and you'll be fine."

"Sure. Thanks, Ratch'." Chromia slipped from her mate's back and rapped him on the head with her knuckles to signal he could get up. Ironhide rose to his feet with a rumbling groan. He didn't bother checking her over for any further wounds. He knew she was strong enough to handle slag like that on her own. However, he did catch her around the shoulders with one thick arm and dragged her to his side tightly. Chromia let herself be held, aware that Ironhide needed the comfort. He'd never admit to it, but he was upset over Bumblebee's episode out on the tarmac.

Prowl glanced around at the gathering, letting his cool gaze slide to Prime's. "Should we begin this meeting?"

"No point in delaying the inevitable," Optimus sighed. "Does anybody have anything they want to say?"

Mirage stepped forward immediately, one of the few who had not been present for the test run of the bio-interfacial cybernetic suits. "Are we absolutely certain that the Fallen was involved in this incident?"

"Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are confident that the Fallen was involved," Prowl intoned.

"But did they _see_ him?" Mirage pressed. If Bumblebee's meltdown was just a meltdown, the matter could be dealt with easily enough. Should the Fallen be involved for any given reason, it made matters so much more complicated.

"The Twins did not necessarily see the Fallen's spectre," Prowl admitted reluctantly.

The Master Spy looked hopeful for a moment. "Then there is a possibility that this could just be a normal glitch."

"How many _normal_ glitches have you seen like this?" Wheeljack questioned.

"I don't mean to be obtuse about this, but I simply don't see what interest the Fallen could possibly have in Bumblebee," Mirage sighed. "If there is any reason for this glitch to be of natural causes-."

"We'd be deluding ourselves," Ratchet said curtly.

"But-."

Prowl sat back, disentangling his hand from Jazz's in order to run it over his faceplate in a small show of frustration. "What reason do we have to outright deny the possibility that the Fallen has been involved? We've all known Bumblebee for as long as he's been alive, and he has been one of the most stable warriors we have ever seen. If he's never had a glitch like this before, what other reason would he have to develop one in the midst of a semi-peaceful period?"

Mirage opened his mouthplates to say something, then sighed and shook his head.

Optimus rumbled quietly. "Mirage, I understand your feelings about this matter. We are all experiencing similar feelings of denial, but what else could possibly bring on such a violent episode?"

The Master Spy still looked resistant. "Red Alert has had many glitches-."

Red Alert cut in with a quick rev. "None so violent, I'd like to point out. I've never actually lost contact with reality to the point where I could no longer recognize friend from foe. I'm simply high-strung."

"Glitches are brought on by high-stress situations," Ratchet pointed out. "Bumblebee's only duty has been his guardianship of Sam. There has been very little other direct stress on him to induce anything. As much as any of us would hate to admit it, we have to believe in Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's diagnosis that the Fallen was involved."

Mirage's thin frame sagged. His optics dimmed. "Out of all of us, why Bumblebee?"

Elita One looked up, her stunning faceplate etched with sadness. "Because he's not like us."

As the words were said, the tone in the Solarium shifted.

Warm humidity turned cold. Even the sun seemed to dim. Autobots immediately started to shift uncomfortably. Some shifted their optics away from Elita, looking to their feet or the greenery instead. This was not a subject that was easily accepted or understood by the commanders of the Autobots. Yes, they had been told about what Bumblebee was. They knew he was from somewhere else other than the Allspark. But still, most of them preferred not to think about it. The notion was too bizarre to think about for long without starting to feel disturbed by it.

They all loved Bumblebee. That had not changed. It was simply that he was not from the Allspark that was hard to understand.

Elita One's expression turned sadder than before. Her spark ached for Bumblebee. He didn't deserve any of this. Not the Fallen or Nemesis coming after him, not him being forced to question everything he knows, and certainly not his own family being uncomfortable with his unique origins. Not for the first time did she wish she could smack some sense into the Autobots.

Sensing her displeasure, Optimus moved stealthily through the Solarium to stand behind his mate's chair. He placed his large hands upon her shoulders and felt her relax slightly. One small hand came up to grasp one of his reassuringly. His presence was enough to give Elita strength to continue.

"I'm sorry that I have to bring it up. I know it bothers a lot of you to think about where Bumblebee is from, but he's exactly the kind of thing the Fallen delights in," Elita said softly. "Bumblebee is a unique creature. He was not created through the Allspark; he's one-of-a-kind, and that leaves him isolated and vulnerable. That is reason enough for the Fallen to be interested in tormenting him." She shuddered, remembering things she'd rather forget. Once again, Optimus was there to offer support.

Ratchet saw the pain inflicted on Elita and wished there was something he could do to help. There wasn't much, but he could shift the topic for her. "How would the Fallen know anything about Bumblebee? None of us have dared to breathe a word about his origins to anyone."

"Like he needs ta eavesdrop on us," Jazz snorted. "He could'a just popped into one of ours heads an' had a look around."

Red Alert shifted anxiously. "We've previously discussed the possible need of deleting sensitive information in order to protect it. Is this one of those cases?"

"_No!"_ Elita exclaimed, so suddenly that several bots jumped. Optimus's hands tightened on her shoulders, his spark reaching for her. Elita calmed, resuming her seat with an entreaty visible in her optics. "We mustn't delete our memories of him. Before this incident, Bumblebee was already questioning who he was. His encounter with Nemesis has only made him question himself more. He feels alone and thinks he had no one to talk to about it. If we delete our memories of him to protect him, it may only drive him farther from us."

"Then what _should_ we do?" Wheeljack asked helplessly.

"Prepare for the worse. That's all we can do," sighed the Prime.

"There's no way Bee would turn on us, though," Blaster intoned. "He's got a good spark. He's a good bot! Even if the Fallen is fragging with him, he'd never fight against us!"

"Bumblebee in his right mind would never attack us," Ratchet pointed out. "But he's scared now. He's confused. That leaves him vulnerable, especially if the Fallen and this new Nemesis creature are trying to get into his head."

"Should Bumblebee ever be lured to the other side, it would be disastrous for us. He has known only war for all his life" Optimus said mournfully. "We saw out on that tarmac today the product of creating a life in the midst of a nightmare. He managed to single-handedly evade some of the best Autobots I have under my command. Obviously, he is more of a warrior than we have ever given him credit for. If he were ever to fight against us, he would be an incredibly formidable opponent."

"He's fast, smart, strong…" Mirage listed off.

"He knows all of our weaknesses," Jazz added with a shake of his head.

"It's hard thinking of Bumblebee as a threat to anyone, though! We've known him since he was a sparkling, for Primus's sake," Blaster exclaimed.

"We just don't _want_ to think of him as a threat," Elita One said, her fingertips running down Blaster's back consolingly.

"For Sam's protection, Bumblebee should be relieved of his guardianship and someone else be appointed," Prowl said. It was the most sensible course of action to protect the Allspark, yet it still earned a couple of stunned stares.

"Bee is not going to like that," Wheeljack sighed. "Neither is Sam, for that matter."

"It does not matter what either of them wants," Prowl countered stonily. "Our number one priority should be the protection of the Allspark."

Wheeljack did not look convinced. "You know how they are with each other- they're brothers now. They got a level of family going on that Bee never got to have before. If ya go separating them, it'll wreck them both."

Ratchet shook his head. "I hate that I have to say this, Jack, but even if I fixed the glitch this time, what's stopping the Fallen from inducing another episode? Next time, it could be worse. The safest thing we can do is reassign someone else to Sam's protection. Bumblebee can continue to visit Sam, but it should be under supervision."

"That sounds reasonable enough," Optimus rumbled.

"Jazz and I can take up temporary guardianship of Sam," Prowl suddenly volunteered.

"_Us?"_ the saboteur said incredulously. His sentiment was reflected in the expressions of several other Autobots.

Prowl arched an optic ridge. "Weren't you the one who was seeking a new assignment or two? Beggars can't be choosers in what opportunities come about." The tactician looked rather satisfied as he spoke. He finally had something to give Jazz to occupy his time, and it was an assignment they could both be assigned to that was unlikely to harbour too much danger.

Jazz heard the satisfaction in his lover's voice and had half a mind to set him straight, but resisted the urge. What point was there to argue? He was a highly skilled bot with a lot of time on his hands. To refuse would be selfish. With a shrug, he said, "Alright, fine, Prowl and Ah will take Sam until a better arrangement can be made."

"This is going to be interesting," Blaster chuckled lowly, only to be poked by Elita, who was smiling humouredly.

"I have confidence in you both," Optimus intoned, nodding to both mechs. It was a relief to have two of his most capable bots looking after someone as valuable as Sam.

Chromia huffed quietly, wrapping her arms tight around her chassis. "What are we to do with Bumblebee in the meantime?"

Ironhide rumbled softly. "We can't leave him locked up. I won't allow it."

"There will be no locking up," Optimus said. "We'll just have to watch him."

"How? Our forces are too thin to assign him a guard at all times," Red Alert pointed out. "With anti-alien sentiment on the rise around the planet, it would be wrong of us to request a bot from another terrestrial base. It would only leave them shorthanded. And I wouldn't dare suggest contacting Ultra Magnus. He's having a hard enough time with what's going on over on his side of the space bridge."

Scarcely over two months prior, Blaster had tentatively reported Decepticon activity in sectors beyond the space bridge. At first, they had just been rumours, vacant little whispers about strange things happening. Bots were beginning to see the Seekers again. Nearly seven years of being completely silent, and now flocks of them were appearing out of nowhere, attacking Decepticons, and going right back off the map again. They only attacked Decepticons encampments. For all the damages they used to bring at the height of the war, not a single flock had attacked an Autobot or Neutral encampment or outpost. No one had even been raided for their supplies.

But Seekers were Seekers, which made everyone uncomfortable.

From just a few scavenger pickings in the beginning, the Seekers had steadily stepped up their game until there were full-fledged attacks going on. No survivors were reported. Either they had been destroyed or taken prisoner. With each attack, the Seekers came closer to the Beta-Zen region where the space bridge was. While that area of space had once been an empty, starless pit of nothingness where space-junk gathered, it was quickly becoming a densely packed region for Cybertronian refugees looking to be close to their Prime but not yet confident enough to make the leap through the bridge to Earth.

Bots were getting scared.

Even if the Seekers hadn't attacked an Autobot or a Neutral yet, that didn't mean they wouldn't if the opportunity came to it.

With rumours of Starscream leading the large flock now confirmed, _anything_ was possible.

Generally speaking, that did not bode well for anyone else. At the request of many worried Autobots and Neutrals, Ultra Magnus had been stepping up security as much as he possibly could. Unfortunately, with their population decimated to the point it was at, there wasn't much to step up with.

Optimus shifted his weight heavily as he considered his options. There wasn't a lot to choose from. He couldn't spare one of his own mechs, he couldn't ask for another from another base, and Ultra Magnus was out of the question indefinitely. He shook his head, a great whoosh of air rushing out his vents as he sighed expansively.

"We will just have to do the best we can with what we have," he said. "I will request that Bumblebee stay on base. At least if he is here, it will be easier for us to keep an optic on him."

There suddenly came a desperate knocking on the glass from the outside. It took a moment to find the source. It was Sunstreaker, knocking on the glass so hard he was staring to leave chips in it. His faceplate look strained. One hand was to his audio as he communicated with someone. As soon as he realized he had everyone's attention, he immediately transmitted a message for everyone to hear:

"_There's been an incident in the med bay. Sideswipe thinks either Nemesis or the Fallen got into Bee's room. They just got the door open, but Bumblebee won't say a word to either of them. They need someone down there right now."_

Ratchet was already moving for the exit. "Tell them I'll be right there." The moment his feet hit the dirt outside, he transformed and was off with a roar of his engine.

The Autobots watched as their Chief Medical Official drove off in a hail of rising dust. Optimus was the first to do anything at all. He sighed, turning to regard the rest of his commanders.

"I suppose that concludes this meeting," he said. "Keep in mind what we've discussed here. Watch out for Bumblebee as best as you all can. The last thing any of us wants is to lose him."

* * *

Sunstreaker watched as the commanders dispersed from the confines of the Solarium.

Mirage was the first to leave, exchanging a quick word with Hound, who sat nearby as one of the sentries for the duration of the meeting, before they both transformed and headed straight for the med bay. Wheeljack wandered out with Ironhide and Chromia, the three of them talking quietly amongst each other with solemn expressions.

Next came Prowl, Jazz, and Red Alert, with Blaster carrying Sam in his arms. Two humans who had been lingering around the Solarium immediately came up and started fussing over the human's limp body. Mikaela fussed the loudest, swearing a few times as she looked her mate over. She pointed a sharp finger under Blaster's olfactory sensor, irrationally cursing him out for going through Sumdac Industries' databanks and finding the slag that prompted the suit test. Blaster, for his part, looked thoroughly chastised by the female. Miles, the second human present, merely hovered close and twisted the hem of his shirt in his hands. He had already been chewed out by Mikaela during the meeting, with Sunstreaker close enough to have heard every volatile word exchanged.

Sunstreaker arched an optic ridge as Prowl knelt to the ground. He said something that made Mikaela gasp. She covered her mouth with her hands, shaking her head. Prowl nodded, then transformed into his black-and-white police SUV alt mode. He folded all of his seats down to create a cushioned bed within his cab. One of his doors opened, allowing Blaster to gently place Sam within the tactician, and then Mikaela climbed in after him. Jazz transformed, and the quartet rolled off in the direction of the human sector of base.

Red Alert slunk off, leaving Miles to catch a ride on Blaster. The two were forced to veer out of the way as a scuttling green bot came darting toward the Solarium. Sunstreaker recognized her without having to scan for a spark resonance. With one glance back into the Solarium where the Prime and Elita One remained, he confirmed that the pair was fine, so he made his way toward Virus. As he drew close, he saw that she was carrying a silver canister under one arm. Closer still and he could read the label on the side of it: _anthrax. _

As soon as they were close enough to converse comfortably, Sunstreaker inclined his head in greeting. "What brings you out here, Moonfly?"

"There's been another attack," she announced with no preamble.

"On base?" Sunstreaker asked, tensing up.

"No, elsewhere," Virus replied, one optic ridge arching. "I just got word that Hibernia was recently attacked and destroyed. The storm prevented anyone from getting to the rig in time."

Sunstreaker growled darkly. "As if I didn't have enough to worry about with Bumblebee, now I have to worry about home, too?"

"Our base was uneffected. You needn't worry about it," Virus assured. It didn't occur to her that human sentiment in the area might affect their home... or perhaps the contents of her canister was designed to deal with that particular issue.

"Never mind, Moonfly. Thanks for telling me."

She shrugged. "It was only right. I told Sideswipe first."

He transformed with a long sigh, nudging Virus to invite her onto his roof. She had no alt mode, so she accepted the invitation with alacrity. He barely felt her weight as she settled atop of him, yet he felt her hand acutely as she patted him on the roof consolingly.

"I am sorry to hear about Bumblebee's situation," said Virus, a tad awkwardly. She was not good with apologies of any kind, but she tried whenever she felt like the situation deserved it. "Sideswipe told me what happened when I passed him in the med bay. It sounded like quite the meltdown. The Allspark is alright?"

"The Allspark is fine," Sunstreaker sighed.

"And yourself?" the femme wondered.

A massive rush of hot air whooshed out from all his vents. "I wish there was more I could have done. If there was a way I could have helped Bumblebee before he had his meltdown..."

"It's not your fault that Bumblebee was targeted," Virus reminded, continuing to pet his roof. She added a magnetic pulse for the soothing effect. It was an unusually kind gesture that Sunstreaker appreciated immensely. "It's not your fault that Hibernia was attacked, either. Slag happens."

"I know that, I do. But I can't stop myself from feeling like Sideswipe and I should be doing _more_." For whatever reason, he and his brother could see the Fallen in his spectral form. Since they were sparklings, they had always been different in the ways that mattered- they saw things, knew things that normal bots didn't. But when it came right down to it, different didn't equal useful. They could point in the direction of the Fallen, but what good were they for fighting him? For protecting their comrades? They could do slag, and the reality of it was taking its toll on them.

Virus paused, considering carefully if there was anything more that the twins could be doing. When nothing came to mind, she shrugged unconcernedly. "You are doing all that you can. What more can be asked of you?"

Sunstreaker revved his frustration, dropping the subject before he got too irked by it. "What's everyone doing about Hibernia?"

"Soundwave is there now with Flamewar, Barricade, Roulette, and Nightbird trying to minimize the oil spill. Buzzsaw and Laserbeak are ferrying survivors to shore," Virus reported. If she cared that he was changing the subject, she didn't show it.

"Great," Sunstreaker sighed, sagging on his wheels. "Does Sideswipe know?"

"Yes, he was not happy about the attack," Virus said. She shifted on his roof so she didn't fall off, careful not to scratch any of his paint. She was always so careful not to scratch any of his paint. "Soundwave is requesting that we return to Carnéval as soon as possible. I've chartered us a flight back with one of the EDC pilots. The soonest we can leave is tomorrow afternoon."

For a moment, Sunstreaker was happy to hear that he and Sideswipe could finally go home, but then he sighed again. "I don't think I'll be able to go. Things are happening here… The Autobots are going to need me and Sides for whatever's coming." It was one of the greatest troubles living away from base, always having to make the choice of which was more important: home or the war. Before now, the choice would have always been easy. He would have always chosen the war. Now things were different- for the first time in a long time, he and Sides had a _home_. It was hard dividing loyalties between the two.

"I see," Virus intoned quietly.

"You're more than welcome to go home if you want to, Moonfly," Sunstreaker offered.

"Yes, of course." He could hear her sharp little fingers drumming against the metal of her anthrax container. Suddenly, he heard her speak: "Please brake here."

"Why?" Sunstreaker wondered, slowing but continuing to roll along.

"Because I said so," Virus replied. It was almost an order.

Because he felt like it and not because he was ordered to, Sunstreaker came to a rolling halt at the shoulder of the street. Several curious humans stared as Virus slid off his roof. As soon as the little organics caught sight of the canister she was carrying and realized what the label read, they quickly got out of the area. Once Virus was a few paces away, Sunstreaker resumed his bipedal mode. Instead of walking away, Virus waited until she could meet Sunstreaker's pale blue gaze. Her faceplate held a little more to it than her usual expression of disinterest as she stared into his optics.

"You must do what you feel is right," said the femme.

A little confused, Sunstreaker canted his head. "For what-?"

"If you believe staying here with the Autobots is right, then you mustn't feel guilty for it. You are an Autobot, after all," Virus elaborated, though said the word _Autobot_ as if it were as vile as the anthrax she was toting around. "Soundwave and the others are perfectly capable of coping without you and Sideswipe. Carnéval isn't going anywhere; it will still be there when you're done here, so do as you feel you must."

"Ah, I see." He shifted his weight. Sunlight glinted off his armour. He felt odd in the wake of her words. Keeping optic contact, he nodded to her. "Thank you."

She shrugged, and then almost smiled. _Almost._ Just a tiny little twitch at the corners of her mouthplates that didn't make her look happy or pretty. Sunstreaker saw the gesture and felt his spark skip lightly in return. Virus then turned on her heel and started walking away.

Startled by her sudden retreat, Sunstreaker called after her- "Where are you going now?"

She peered over her shoulder, red eyes glinting in the afternoon light. "I'm going to find that pilot I was speaking with earlier to cancel our flight. There's no point wasting fuel for just one bot." Among other reasons she might have for staying.

It was Sunstreaker's turn to almost smile for her. "Alright, then go cancel our flight."

With a curt nod, she began to skitter off.

"Oh, Moonfly!"

She stopped again, this time a bit agitated as she peered over her shoulder. "Yes?"

"Do you mind putting the anthrax away? You know how much the Centre for Disease Control loves it when they find out you have stuff like that."

With an indelicate snort, she stuffed the canister into subspace and marched off haughtily.

Sunstreaker shook his head, surprised to find that he actually felt cheered up. Not cheerful per se, but definitely not miserable anymore. With a shrug to the mystery, he headed for the med bay to speak with Sideswipe and check on Bumblebee.

* * *

There was a long, confused moment while Sam lay on his back wondering what he was doing in the Solarium.

There then came an even longer confused moment when he realized he wasn't in the Solarium, but he was somewhere green.

That was then followed by a very short moment of realizing he was dreaming...and then calling himself an idiot.

The reason it had taken him a little longer to realize he was dreaming when usually he could recognize a dream right away, was because this dream did not host the usual plethora of chase scenes and visions of death. Yeah, his usual night life was stunning like that. Death. Destruction. Devastation. It's a wonder he didn't have more issues then he already did.

This dream, there was no Mission City. There wasn't even a desert. He wasn't being chased by anyone. No strange ghosts with amber eyes calling out to him. By contrast, lying in the middle of a silent, green forest was very pleasant. Peaceful, even. It was kind of weird not being filled with terror or dread.

With a little effort, he pushed himself to sit up in order to get a better look at his surroundings. He was sitting in the middle of a natural crossroads in the trees, barely there paths disecting through the thick foliage. He didn't feel like he was in any rush here- time felt rather slow. Or non-existent. Green filled every corner of his vision. Trees, ferns, vines, flowers; life was bursting from every nook, cranny, and corner. Light from an undetermined source glowed delicately through the leafy canopy, dappled patterns of shadow and light dancing across every surface. The air was sweet and heavy with the rich scent of earth and plants. Not a sound could be heard. No whine of insects. No calls from the birds. Not even a rustle of leaves. But even the silence was wonderful.

There was a bit of a Garden of Eden feeling to it.

Sam closed his eyes and soaked in the ancient majesty of the dream forest. What a beautiful place. He wished all his dreams could be like this.

He moved on the ground, finding the forest floor beneath him soft and lush. It felt as if the earth was reaching up with soft fingers of moss and lichen and bringing him into an embrace. His skin tingled as greenery tickled him from head to toe. That's when Sam realized he was naked.

"Oh shit!" he cried in surprised, sitting up in a rush. His eyes popped open, discovering that being naked was not the only unusual thing about him at the moment. With a startled jolt, he realized that his skin was gouged straight to the bone. He felt no pain, yet huge chunks of his skin had been removed. Not just random wounds like he had been in a fight, either. There was a pattern to the savage wounds gouging his flesh. Large swirls, arching curves, patterned dots. Each glyph was as familiar as the last, painfully familiar without knowing where they were from. No blood marred the lush green carpet of grass. No blood spilled from his wounds.

Sam's stomach churned as he watched blue light throb within the wounds like liquid lightning. He _glowed_ with it.

He got to his feet and craned around to see his back. The carving continued all the way around his body. Deep tracks of flesh gouged away with surgical precision. He could see red muscle and white bone, and beneath that was blue power. It radiated out of him so strongly he could feel the heat of it in the air.

Sam felt his stomach churn again, and this time he felt bile rise up. Hunching over, he heaved. Nothing came out but a handful of sparks flying out like spittle. Dizziness struck him, sending him stumbling to his knees. He grunted as his weight collapsed on his knees. One arm wrapped around his torso as an old burn started up. It was a bit like heartburn, but the fire always struck a little deeper than that.

A low, soft chuckle drifted through the heavy air. "Leave it to a human to think of it like heartburn."

Startled, Sam jerked his head up, openly gaping at the sight before him.

A couple yards ahead of him was a man of indescribable beauty; blond hair matched with a perfectly proportioned face, wickedly blue eyes that out-classed even Sam's, and a body that appeared sculpted by angels. He wore an impeccable white suit of the perfect cut that showcased his flawless body adoringly. From his back stretched a pair of powerful white wings whose edges looked sharp enough to cut steel.

Sam looked down at himself and felt like a worm in the dirt. He couldn't help himself, being all crouched over like an animal, naked and heaving. His plainness only seemed to accentuate the beauty of his new company. And let's not discuss his newfound gouges across his flesh. Even the thought of those made Sam want to vomit again. If the stranger noticed anything unusual about him, gave no sign of it. He remained leaning against a tree- an apple tree, Sam noted quizzically- watching Sam with indecipherable eyes.

"No matter how many times I see you, I always expect you to be more…" He gestured vaguely, searching for the right word. _"Impressive"_ he concluded with a light snap.

"W-what the hell?" Sam fell back onto his ass, desperately trying to cover his nakedness.

The winged man continued as if Sam had said nothing at all, his gaze moving appraisingly along Sam's nude body. "I suppose it's the human in you, isn't it? What's left of it, anyways."

Sam scrambled to his feet, feeling sickeningly exposed. He covered himself with his hands and cringed away from the staring eyes that watched him. "Who are you? What the hell is going on?"

One perfectly shaped brow arched. "You're dreaming. I thought that much was obvious by now." He raised a hand, which was immediately filled by an apple from the apple tree he was standing under. "Apple?" he offered Sam, holding out the prize.

"No… thank you." Naked and terrified, he still had a weird thing about manners. Damn his mother for teaching him so well.

The man smirked. "Your loss." He bit into the apple himself, seeming to savour the juices that ran into his mouth, loving how the flesh was pulverized between his teeth, finally followed by the slow slide of the mash going down his throat. The entire motion appeared to be the single most erotic act committed by any living being.

"What are you?" Sam demanded, though is voice shook a little.

Blue eyes that had been shut while savouring the apple slid open, glinting in the dappled light. "I am whatever you want me to be."

"I want you to be gone," Sam immediately said.

"Everything but that," the winged man chuckled. "Clever boy." He pushed away from the tree and brushed his spotless suit off. Done with that task, he prowled forward, intent on circling around Sam to survey him. His movements were inhumanly graceful. With his wings, Sam would have guessed he'd be graceful like a bird, but watching him now, all Sam could think of was _snake._

Not liking the idea of having his back to the stranger, Sam kept shifting in time to the man's movements. This was definitely unlike any other dream he had ever had. No one had ever really interacted with him before. What disturbed him the most was that there was a quality about this dream that made it feel a little more _real_ than what he was used to. Like he was actually _there_.

A light chuckle of amusement came from the white-winged man. "Just because this is a dream, doesn't mean it isn't real, Sam." A hand rose, stopping Sam from saying anything. "Before you ask, no, I'm not just a figment of your imagination. I _am_ real."

Sam stumbled back, startled. "You read minds?"

"Not really, you just happen to be especially transparent," came the reply, followed by a smile that was both mesmerizing and terrifying. "Souls are more my specialty. Yours, in fact, is of particular interest to me."

"Why?" Sam choked out, skin crawling. With the man so close, he could smell an intoxicating mix of aromas wafting off him; sweet apples, wild sky, the musk of sex, and a dark, pungent fragrance full of unearthly things. A beautiful, haunting, inhuman smell of power and secrets. Something about the scent made Sam want to crawl in close and cringe away at the same time.

"Isn't it obvious? Just look at yourself." He gestured to all of Sam, prompting the human to look down at himself again. His flesh carved up. Pulsing bright blue light like an ugly bug-zapper.

Gritting himself so he didn't vomit, Sam drawled snidely. "You have a thing for neon lights?"

"I have a thing for power." White-clad shoulders rose in a nonchalant shrug, amused but unbothered by Sam's attitude. "Things like you don't deal with power too well, especially the raw stuff. You can see what it's been doing to you."

Yeah, Sam had seen enough already. He'd seen enough to give him nightmares for the rest of his life.

There came a low chuckle, a tad on a rueful side. "That's the consequence of hosting something so strong inside something so weak. Eventually, it's going to burn you up inside until there's nothing left."

Sam felt his heart stutter, his eyes shooting wide. "Burn me up inside?"

"You can feel it, can't you? It might have just been a twinge at first, a little itch that you couldn't scratch. You feel it now like a burn, like a steady, low simmer right about here." In the heart. "The Allspark's been burning you up inside for the last eight years."

Sam looked down at himself again, even though it made him want to claw his eyes out every time he did. He saw the raw skin in the gouges, carved deep into his body. The Allspark had done it all without him noticing. Although he dreaded what the answer was, he dared to ask, "There's not much left, is there?"

The winged man tilted his head, then sighed. "No, not much. Every time you call it up, it burns a little hotter and takes away a little more of you."

Damn it. Sam's fists clenched. Fear congealed in the pit of his stomach like a dead weight. Anger also light his blood to a low simmer. _Burns a little hotter and takes away a little more of you._ All this time, he'd been concerned with his outsides. _Looking_ human. _Acting_ human. He'd been so stupid. While he'd been so concerned with things that didn't matter, the one thing that truly did make him human was being burned away. It was almost all gone now.

Gods, he didn't want to die. There were so many things he had yet to do. Propose to Mikaela. Start a family. Figure out how to program his damn microwave.

Sam's knees wavered, but he refused to go to the ground. He didn't want to look like he was admitting defeat, especially not in front of his present company. He straightened up, thrusting his chin up, chest out. He met the white-winged man with a determined stare. "If you're real, is there anything you can do?"

Wings shifted. The other man's gaze was serious and pensive. "We've been trying to slow the process down as much as we can, but we can't stop it indefinitely."

Sam's eyes flashed. "We?"

A barely there smirk appeared. "You didn't think Cybertron was the only planet with _Others_ on it, did you?"

"I- oh, um…" Sam was wise enough to know it wouldn't be smart to admit to this ceature that he'd never given Earth a second thought. For some reason, it was so much easier to believe _alien_ gods. Outer space? Sure, anything was possible. Aliens. Alien gods. Planet-devouring evil alien gods. But Earth? He'd lived on the planet all his life and never saw anything, so what reason was there to believe anything more existed than what he could see? Earth had been a very boring planet for him right up until the day he'd bought Satan's Camaro.

Cloth rustled. Sam's vision was suddenly washed in white as he realized the other man was now standing in front of him. Not even a foot away. Cool fingertips ran beneath Sam's chin, lifting his face. Cool, calculating eyes measured him with a propriety air.

"There are so many things you don't know," the man sighed. Those long, cool fingers slowly trailed down Sam's throat, caressing the skin with a distant fascination. A choking noise came out of Sam's mouth. He couldn't make proper words come out. Instead, the stranger continued to speak in his deep, mesmerizing tones: "You have no idea all the trouble that's been gone to just to hide you. Do you know how much trouble it is to make you look as normal as possible?" The fingers stopped moving, gently wrapping around Sam's throat. He could feel power radiating through the palms. "It's taken more skill than I'd like to admit to hide you from the Fallen. And it will all be for nothing if you burn up. That's the last thing I want to happen."

It was said in such a way that left no illusion where his concern laid. Sam was worth nothing compared to the worth of the Allspark. This creature didn't give a damn about anything but his own interests.

"Isn't there a way to take the Allspark out of me?" Sam asked desperately, voice cracking. _"Please." _He could say the words, but his eyes said enough: _I don't want to die_.

Hands moved away. Clothing rustled. The man backed away, having looked his fill. "Perhaps there is some method of removing it, it simply hasn't been found yet. We're still looking."

Disappointed and helpless once again, Sam squeezed his eyes shut. Damn. Damn. _Damn_. "If there's nothing you can do right now, why are you here? Why go to all the trouble of hijacking me if all you were going to do was ruin the rest of my life, however short that might be, with the cheerful knowledge that I'm _dying_."

"I was curious," was the reply, as nonchalant as could be. "I heard what happened this morning and I wanted to make sure the Fallen hadn't managed to kill you with his own foolishness. He's been making too many mistakes as of late. It would be too easy for him to make a fatal one."

"The Fallen?" It took a moment for Sam to connect the dots. "Are you talking about Bumblebee attacking me? No, that was just a mistake- it wasn't the Fallen. Bee only had a meltdown. He didn't mean any of it."

One blond brow arched. "And who do you think caused that meltdown? Oh, never mind. You'll only be human about it." He shook his head. "I see that you're fine… as fine as can be expected, considering your condition. Now that I know you're not dead, I'll take my leave now. You're welcome to wake up any time you like." He turned to leave.

Sam's hand shot out, grasping his cuff. "Are you sure there's nothing you can do? Nothing anyone can do to help me?"

There was a pause. A sigh. Blue eyes peered over a white-clad shoulder, feathered wings shifting out of the way. "There's barely any soul left worth gambling with, Sam. Even if I could help you, you'd never be able to pay off a deal with me."

Something about those words sent a cold shiver down Sam's spine. He had a feeling he wouldn't be paying off any debts to this man with money. He looked away. "So there's nothing, huh?"

"Not much, except for keeping you out of the Fallen's hands."

Sam let his hand fall away from the stranger's cuff, his shoulders sagging. "I understand. Thanks anyways."

A simple white business card was held out. "Since you look like you need it, here's my card. If you ever need anything, give me call. I make house calls."

Without thinking, Sam took the card. In simple gold letters was the name _L. Morningstar_. Sam glanced up, curious and wary.

"What's the 'L' stand for?"

A smile came across the man's face, more beautiful and terrible than any smile ever had a right to be.

"Lucifer."


	15. To Build an Army

Been a while, huh? I thought I completely lost my mojo for this story, but it finally came back. ^_^ So here we all are with the new chapter to _May We Never Let Go_… might as well get on with it instead of rambling about other things. =) I hope everyone is in the mood for Seekers! ^_^ P. S. Thanks to the readers who pointed out my error with the Stunticons and who they form. Mistakes happen, but I'm glad it was pointed out so it could be fixed. ^_^

**Renegadewriter8**- You're quite right about Bumblebee and Sam not taking the news very well at all. In fact, they're pretty pissed. But what can you do, right? Everyone's trying to do the best they can, but it sadly isn't enough right now. . lol~ I've never seen Death Note before, but I do know of the character L. I didn't realize the reference when I wrote Lucifer's name on his business card. ^_^;

**CNightJoy**- Yep, you have it pretty much straight; the Earth devil and the Cybertronian devil have their issues with each other, which does not bode well for anyone else. O_o That's great to hear that you enjoyed the content of the chapter. It was a little hard to write about everyone being uncomfortable with BB being from the Allspark, but I figured it was the most realistic thing, you know? People are always uncomfortable with things they don't understand. -_-

**Animelover1993**- Haha, sounds like I really blew your mind with the chapter. =P I have done a lot of research to get a lot of the deities right, and I'm still doing a lot of research to keep everything in order. ^_^ lol~ I'm glad that I could make you fall in love with the story all over again. =D

**Femme4prime**- It's good to hear that there are readers out there that appreciate the blend of human, mechanical, and supernatural elements that are being introduced in this story. It's a really unusual mix. ^_^; As for how Sam and Bumblebee (not to mention Jazz and Prowl) are handling their new situation, two words describe it: Not. Well. They are not taking the new arrangement well at all. .

**Flameshield**- Sam's a special kind of guy, you know? He gets all the special kinds of dreams, lucky boy that he is. ^_^; Lucifer is, indeed, involved in all the mayhem that's about to unfold. You'll definitely be seeing more of him in the future. =P

**JenEvan**- lol~ I've never watched Gundam or Evangelion, but I sort of know of them, so I understand the references. To be honest, I'm not sure where my inspiration came from for the bio-interfacial cybernetic suits. ^_^; Keep your eye on Nemesis, is all I can say. He's a sneaky creature, he is… As for Starscream, you'll be about to see what's up with him in this chapter. =P

**GBscientist**- I can't say who Sam might encounter in the future, but I can say that Lucifer might be the least of his troubles in the future to come…

**Phoebe Turner**- lol~ I do so love introducing plot twists. =P Thanks so much for reviewing. ^_^

**Violet-** Haha, an epic soundtrack for this story would be so… EPIC! XD Thanks for thinking the story is that great. =P

**Juzu-** Thank you so much, I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter. If you don't mind me asking, who did you think Lucifer was originally going to be? =P

**King of Pain**- Awww, that really means a lot when I hear that readers are really into the work. I always worry that I'm totally alienating the readers and even the Transformers universe with some of the stuff I write. XD As for your question about a more prominent diety putting up a fight- mostly likely someone stronger would have put up a greater fight, yes, but Nemesis is not a creature to be underestimated. O_o

**Chloo**- There is a light at the end of the tunnel, but it's a little grey, and really, really far away at the moment. Bumblebee has a lonnnggggg way to go, and it won't be easy with Nemesis breathing down his neck. . I'm actually not sure why Prowl volunteered both himself and Jazz for Sam's protection. It was simply something that flew from my fingertips… and now I will be flying by the seat of my pants to write for them. XD Funny that you latch on to the mention of the Seekers… I've only been hinting at them so far, but this chapter is finally going to shed some light on what's up with them. =P As for what Lucifer might possibly be doing… I wish I could tell you, but that would ruin the surprise. XD

**1bloodtempest**- Glad you like the Lucifer Morningstar thing! =P I actually borrowed the name from Neil Gaiman, who uses the name in the comic series _Lucifer,_ which I totally base the image of my Lucifer off of. XD As for poor Bee… yeah, it would be helpful if bots opened up and starting talking to him about the matter and simply accepted him for how he came about, but where would be the angst in that? =P As for transferring Sam into a new vessel… it would be a good idea, but no one has a way of doing it. Not even the _Others_ of Earth have a way of creating or transferring the Allspark's power, so it's unlikely that mortals could come up with a device.

**Bluebird Soaring**- I may be gathering up chords into a final thread through the chapters, but I assure you that I am nowhere near the end! The chords are only going to fray again and again until they're nothing but a tangled knot to be sorted out again. =P Bumblebee isn't going to be locked up by anyone no, but he may cage himself in a prison of his own making. Sometimes your own mind can be your worst enemy, you know? . As for Lucifer, I'm humbled that you think I captured his character so well. He's a fascinating literary character to me and I truly wanted to do him justice.

**Midnight Marquis**- lol~ I'm glad you found this story as well. Thank you so much for reviewing. ^_^

**Litahatchee**- You know what, I didn't even realize that it was full circle moment with BB dreaming of Psi and Sam dreaming of Lucifer. XD Good thing you caught that. =P Your analysis of Elita One is refreshingly insightful and wonderfully accurate. Both Elita and Bee are unique creatures, things that the Fallen delight in. And I have to tip my hat to you for your questions about Sam's fate. Some of the questions you posed were quite striking, really. I wish I could tell you Sam's poor fate, but that would ruin the surprise. =P

**Lecidre**- Oh dear… I never thought my writing would ever be compared to Twilight…^_^; I suppose since it's merely a situational comparison and not really a writing skills comparison or anything, it's okay. It's funny that your comparison makes Edward Lucifer and Sam gets to be Bella. XD Don't be too hard on Mirage, my dear. He can't help being a jerk, you know? He was programmed like that. ^^; You'll actually see later on that he has learned some lessons from all his years on Earth. =P As for Virus's canister of anthrax, I think you're right in saying that sometimes it's better not to know what she was doing with it. XD Lastly, I have to express my absolute amazement that you reviewed every chapter that you missed, and each of your reviews is more amazing than the last. You are an extraordinary woman, my friend, and I am honoured that you choose to read my stories. *hugs*

Read, Review, and Enjoy~

**May We Never Let Go  
****To Build an Army**

The night was as clear as any night could be when you were camping on a giant chunk of rock floating randomly in space. In truth, it wasn't really _night_ time on the rock, nor was it orn. There was no sun nearby to say whether it was night or orn, dawn or dusk, midnight or afternoon. For a few bots present, they couldn't even say what time it was. Not that orn or night or even time really mattered anymore. What was the point of knowing the time when there was nothing to be late or early for anymore?

The Stunticon gestalt team was not particularly concerned with time, or with much else these orns. They cared little about where their giant piece of rock came from, though Dead End liked to muse that it was from a planet that must have blown up. He expressed a dark fondness for the idea, supposing that every dust cloud they passed through might be the incinerated remains of such a planet. His enthusiasm never ceased to bother his comrades, who, even after knowing him for so long, could still find themselves disturbed by Dead End's trains of thought. Whatever the case for their camp site, it was a relatively large chunk of rock, roughly the size of a large mountain. There were areas on it that were jagged and rough, pockmarked by space debris hitting it. In other places, it was smooth and semi-even- a good enough place for tired Decepticons to camp. Travelling as much as they did from space station to space station, planet to planet, it was nice to have some place quiet to settle down in for a little while.

There were about a dozen bots in the small camp, the gestalt team included. The seven others who camped on the rock had been there before the Stunticons, but none had objected to the new five's arrival. Down to the last one, they were all exhausted and depressed. Their frames ached from chronic abuse, old wounds healed wrong because there had been no medic to treat them. No gloss remained of their paint, and no paint remained on some of their armour. Scar tissue crisscrossed them, stiffening in their joints, blistering along their metal. None could be called beautiful anymore. Their minds were gritty with corrupted data, misplaced files, and computing errors; thinking was becoming a hated task when all it did was stir up memories to haunt them. With every beat of their sparks, they were reminded of the deep, hollow ache that never left them so long as they lived. The pulse of their sparks was weary and reluctant, as if every beat was a struggle to not fade away.

Each one of the dozen bots gathered together was acutely aware of their own condition and the condition of their species as a whole. There weren't many of them left. A couple hundred, maybe? More? Less? No one dared to fight to the death anymore. There were squabbles for needed supplies between small factions, of course, but who would risk killing someone when their species couldn't afford it? They had no planet. No real home, no base, no leader. The entire Cybertronian species had even been blacklisted by other alien species. No transformer could rest long on an alien planet without being asked to get the frag off it as soon as possible. No one wanted to be involved with a species that had destroyed itself through one lone, unending war.

Morale was about as low as it could go.

The only one who seemed to have taken a turn for the better was Dead End, whose normally morose composure was downright cheerful compared to everyone else. Because no one could stand to be in his company for long, he was cast out to the far edges of the camp to patrol. It always paid to be vigilant, even on a rock in the middle of nowhere. With the Seekers out, no one wanted to risk leaving themselves open to attack. Rumours were enough to make everyone a little antsy.

No one wanted to deal with whatever kind of crazy the Seekers were suffering from.

Dead End paced silently along the edges of the rocky piece of space debris, content to be on his own. He trudged over cracked ground and the frozen remains of green organic life. There was no atmosphere on their dead rock, so the plants had suffocated when they were ejected into space. They were crystallized forever in their cryogenic death, so beautiful in their frosted silver-green state. Under his feet, they were ground into dust and floated away with no gravity to hold them. In the vacuum of space, there literally was no sound to be heard, but Dead End pretended he could hear their whispers as they floated up and away, as if in their death they could tell him secrets. How enchanting they looked as they floated away, like flakes of glitter flashing in the dim lights glowing on his chassis.

"So pretty," he sighed to himself, though he could not hear the words. His gestalt brothers thought him strange for his fascination with death- a morbid hobby they always wished he would move on from. Dead End, on the other hand, thought it perfectly natural. Death was, after all, the most natural thing in the universe. It was utterly perfect and patient and impartial, unlike the living. He stretched his hand out and swirled it around in the frozen flakes, whirling them like a whirlpool. Seeing something like this wouldn't be possible if the plants had lived. It was only in their demise that their true beauty could be seen.

For all the art, literature, and science about death, who could really say what it was like? How could you measure it? Define it? Could you hold it in your hands? Slip it under a microscope and see its smallest parts? Disect it to see how all the parts of death fit together? That was hardly the case. Death was an untouchable entity who barred all the living. Dying looked so painful in all the countless ways a spark could be extinguished, but death itself looked so peaceful. So inviting. It was mysterious and haunting, shadowing every step the living took. From the weak to the powerful, all things died. In death, all things were made equal. Its very nature was sweetly poetic.

One of the greatest secrets Dead End kept was that he could _see_ death. With a single glance, he could see when a bot would die. A touch, and he would know how a spark would extinguish. It was a gift he had always had, from the moment he'd come online. Once, it had frightened him. Now, it fascinated him.

It was his fascination with death that had prompted him to join the Decepticons. His brothers had been interested in the power and the conquest that siding against Optimus Prime offered them. They saw Megatron as the stronger bot and chose to follow him. But Dead End had never been interested in politics. To him, power was ephemeral and conquest meaningless. Death, on the other hand, was much more eternal and the Decepticons had offered so much of it.

All it had taken was one look into Megatron's optics for Dead End to see death. No, not just death, but that the Lord Protector was already dead. A brush of their plating, and he realized the spark within had vacated long ago. Whatever was inside now was something else. A monster hid within the monster, staring out with optics that did not live. It existed _beyond_ death, so deep and dark and full of ageless secrets from the beginning and end of time. It was for that very reason that Dead End aligned himself with the Decepticons, to be near such a fascinating creature. It did not live nor was it dead. It was the closest thing to a religious experience he had ever known.

In all his vorns of service, he had hoped for a moment to ask the creature that lived inside Megatron to tell him what was on the other side of death.

Was there more?

Was there nothing?

Word had gone out not long ago that Megatron was dead, killed on Earth, but Dead End knew better. He knew that the thing inside Megatron could not die. Somewhere out there, a monster existed. A terrible, beautiful, horrible, wonderful monster that was not dead because it was not alive. One of these orns, if he waited long enough, he would see that beautiful, terrible monster and be able to ask what was on the other side of forever. Either that, or Dead End would simply die. Whichever came first.

"_Dead End!"_ Motormaster called, using an open channel to transmit. It was just like yelling out loud, complete with the humiliation of everyone within the vicinity able to hear._ "Where have you gone off to? You're not on scanners anymore." _

Dead End paused, suddenly aware that he had lapsed in his duties. He was far from camp, not quite sure where he was. The rock was blackened in the place where he stood, twisted from extreme heat that fed his theory of an explosion ripping a planet apart. The ink-black ash was beautiful the same way metal was after exposed to high temperatures and hardened again, twisted into new shapes that were unknowable but penetrating.

"_I don't know where I am," _Dead End replied absently, not too concerned with the matter.

"_How could you get lost on this tiny rock?" _Wildrider exclaimed incredulously.

Dead End sighed. _"I never said I was lost. I just don't know where I am."_

"_Do we have to come looking for you?" _Breakdown wondered, a hint of annoyance edging his tired voice.

"_No, I can find my way back," _Dead End assured. He wanted to roll his optics at the ridiculousness of the question, but didn't waste his energy when no one could see him.

"_Wherever you are, do you see Seekers?" _Motormaster enquired, his voice growling on the word Seekers as if it were a particularly nasty curse. If one were to consider the current state of the Seekers, their name was very much a curse on many mouthplates.

"_No, I…oh."_ In that moment, Dead End's unusual extra sense kicked in. A spark was nearby, whispering its eventual death to him quietly. It made his own spark speed up and slow down at the same time. He knew the creature, too well aware of his nasty talent of teleporting shorting distances for the ultimate form of a sneak attack. He raised his hands, aware of the null ray aimed at the back of his head.

"_Dead End? Dead End, say something," _Motormaster ordered. His voice sounded distant now, echoing hollowly inside Dead End's head.

For his own sake, Dead End said nothing.

"_Turn around slowly,"_ Skywarp ordered grittily, sounding even more threatening through the transmission than he would audibly.

Dead End did as he was told, turning slowly. He was given the pleasure of being able to stare down the dark, narrow barrel of the thin weapon balanced on the top side of Skywarp's long arm. There had been no warning of the Seeker's arrival- no stirring of the air, no noise. Dead End belatedly reminded himself that there was no air to stir, and in space, no one could hear you scream.

"_Don't do anything stupid_," Skywarp said, his blazing red stare boring into the bot he held at his mercy.

Dead End's gaze slid past Skywarp to the dark space beyond, now dotted with new stars. Moving pinpoints of light coming closer, circling the dead chunk of rock. They seemed to be coming out of nowhere, a whole flock of them sporting Chaar marking. There were too many Seekers for the Stunticons and the rest of their camp to fight.

Dead End's gaze slid back to the null ray in front of him and the Seeker that wielded it. There were plenty of rumours about the Seekers being insane now, but Skywarp did not have the stare of one who was chronically insane. He looked damnably fierce, and under that was a gritty exhaustion and hard determination. The null ray he wielded heated perceptibly, beginning to glow.

For a brief moment, Dead End wondered if this would be the orn he found out what death was like. For all the death he could read, his own was always a mystery to him. His gaze wandered to Skywarp's, treating the Seeker with a curious stare pockmarked no doubt by the persistent veil of sullenness that hung over him.

"_Are you going to kill me now?" _

Skywarp cocked his head to the side, and then grinned dangerously.

* * *

Starscream paced the length of the long, windowed observation deck he waited in. Impatience itched beneath his armour, an irritation that no amount of scratching would be able to relieve. He was not alone in the room, joined by three others. He was not worried to be pacing in front of them as he would be in front of anyone else. They would keep their silence over his pacing, their loyalty a proven thing. Nevertheless, they did watch him as he made his circuit from one end of the room to the other.

"You're worrying too much," Thundercracker intoned, though his own tone betrayed personal worry.

"He's taking too long," Starscream countered. He was loath to admit that he was worried; he would rather admit to his impatience. "He better not have screwed this up."

Thundercracker frowned. "You know he didn't screw it up."

"These things take time," Acidstorm said reasonably. "You must be more patient, Starscream. I would think you'd have learned that by now."

"I don't have time to be patient. We don't have time to waste on anything," Starscream countered sharply, his bright optics reflecting like twin red stars in the dark glass he paced beside.

"All things are as Primus wills them to be," Sunstorm said quietly in that too-knowing tone of his. Out of all of them, he was the most outwardly calm. Every time he opened his mouthplates, he made Acidstorm want to hit him.

"Primus has nothing to do with my concerns," Starscream said darkly. "It is his _brother_ that worries me."

At these words, Thundercracker, Acidstorm, and Sunstorm quieted. Since Starscream had awakened, they had heard many similar allusions. In Cybertronian mythology, the brother of Primus was the Unmaker, Unicron. Aside from Sunstorm, very few Seekers had been inclined to believe in such nonsense. Now they realized there was more reality involved in the old stories than myth. At Starscream's insistence, they were in for the fight of their lives. With every moment that passed, their chances of winning became finer dust in the wind.

"He'll be here," Thundercracker intoned after a long interim.

"Unless the Stunticons were able to form Menasor before anything could be done…" Acidstorm said pessimistically.

Starscream hissed a long, low sound. Menasor was strong when formed. He was the last of the gestalts with all the original members still intact. Any one of the gestalt members was dangerous, but all of them combined were downright deadly.

Sunstorm reached out and flicked his trine mate. "We sent enough Seekers to deal with something like that."

Thundercracker turned his head to the windows, seeing passed the crystal and his own reflection to the dark expanse beyond. "This isn't Skywarp's first rodeo."

"So long as it is not his last," Starscream growled, turning away from his company to resume pacing the length of the room. No lights save the stars illuminated his way. Even in pitch darkness, he was sure he would not lose his path, seeing as a small groove had been set into the floor from all of his pacing. In the dark panes of crystal, he could see his reflection glaring back at him with optics that never seemed to lose their lingering wildness. It was a violence he had adopted after he had come out of his coma, raving like a lunatic. His sanity had come back eventually, but the wildness never left.

Pace one circuit of the room. Stop. Turn. Pace another circuit. Stop. Repeat actions endlessly.

His reflection followed his every movement like it was mocking him. An echo of himself that stood just beyond reach, always taunting. His rusty red paint had been restored to its former glory, though marred by thick black lines of paint curling across his armour. The glyphs had been inscribed into his armour several times, but they had only healed every time, so now paint was used. Sunstorm had helped with the inscribing, and then with the painting, but not even he could interpret their meaning.

His reflection, taunting fragger that it was, told him everything he needed to know about himself. He was the same and yet different. Something had been done to him that he could not explain. He remember very little of the events that led him up to the altering point, simply that he had escaped Earth after Megatron's destruction only to encounter a crazed Virus who wished only for his most painful end. He'd been infected- something he did not remember, but had been told about. An antivirus he had installed long ago to protect himself from such a situation had done its job in protecting him, but the programming had somehow mutated him. He had a healing factor unlike anything any medic had seen before. He could come back from the brink of death as if it were a pleasant flight on the clear morning. Immortality. The mutated programming had restored him, leaving him in a coma in the hands of his fellow Seekers. None of this he remembered, not even the moment he'd come online as a gibbering husk.

Now, with his faculties restored, he could acknowledge the change that existed deep inside him. It felt as if a pall had been lifted from him, or that a dark film of grimy tar had been sucked from his insides; a festering wound whose dull pain he had grown used to was now gone, realized only in the absence of its infection. With this alleviation came a new understanding. He knew what Megatron truly was. Deep inside, it clawed at him that he had somehow always known of the festering disease that slumbered within the Lord Protector, but with his new clarity, he realized the horrifying truth of the matter. He knew what danger the whole universe laid in now that the thing inside Megatron was free.

Beyond rational thought, Starscream found himself inexplicably driven to rise to the occasion. He had to stop the beast. He would not do it alone, but he felt himself charged with the task nonetheless. A suicide mission of the highest order. Pitifully, it was the first honourable task he had set himself to in a very long time.

His Seekers knew of his internal dilemmas. They knew what drove him, made perfectly aware of what mission he was likely to die doing. Their loyalty touched him to the spark when they pledged to follow him into the spark of the storm. They would not allow him to go alone. So here they were, all of his Chaar Seekers and the strays they had picked up along the way. Their numbers swelled with every Decepticon camp they hit, subsuming the splinter groups into their larger body. They were building an army to fight an impossible fiend. A sad truth about it was that every last one of them was probably going to die in the end.

Starscream was finally the leader of something.

The very thought of the matter made a soft, bitter laugh pass from Starscream's vents. He should probably consider this irony, maybe. Mostly, he just felt irritation, impatience, and the constant tug that dragged him back to Earth where the Unmaker waited. The noise of his bitter laugh drew Thundercracker's attention, who watched his brother for several long astroseconds before letting his gaze wander away.

No perfect silence was to be found in the room. Quietness, yes, but the droning of the ship prevented perfect silence. There was also the quiet business that went on throughout the ship, moving through the halls, passing outside the dark door on the far side of the observatory. There was the clicking of Acid Storm's fingers on the data pad he kept with him, constantly working as if possessed by the need. Sunstorm meditated, murmuring a noise was enthralling if given too much attention. Thundercracker drummed his claws against the surface of the table he sat at, a staccato that matched the quick tapping of Starscream's footsteps.

It felt like an eternity before the door to the room hissed open and Skywarp's familiar form stepped in. He was handsome as a Seeker, his silhouette visually stunning as he was outlined by light spilling in from the hall. The deep blacks and violet hues of his paint shone briefly, a fascinating contrast to his shining red optics. The door hissed closed behind him, restoring the dim half-light of the observation room.

"Dead End is such a freak," announced the Seeker as he approached. There were no outright marks of battle on him, so the attack must have gone as planned.

"At least you're unharmed," Sunstorm intoned warmly, relief obvious in his tone.

"Of course I'm unharmed. You thought I'd screw something like that up?" He made a haughty sound, even as he accepted a subdued hug from Thundercracker. "I don't know if I'm flattered you care so much, or insulted that you think I need the concern."

Thundercracker backed out of the embrace, letting his hands come to rest on Skywarp's shoulders. "It is a good thing we worry about you," he said. "Anyone would worry about family."

"Awwww, I love you too," Skywarp drawled in the silliest voice he could come up with, which was enough to get Thundercracker to release him and walk away. Now that he was free of his brother's touch, he brushed himself off and restored his smirk. "But seriously, it was barely a challenge to take out the camp. Menasor didn't even form."

"Did they put up a fight anyway?" Acidstorm enquired.

"Nah," Skywarp replied, his smirk fading at the edges. "Maybe some of the Stunticons put up a fight, but everyone there was just so…" He shrugged. "They were all so depressed, you know? I mean, I know it shouldn't surprise me anymore how miserable everyone is, but its still disturbing. They're all like hollow shells."

"What do you expect? Not everyone is as lucky as us to have gotten their own planet and able to stick together as much as possible," Thundercracker said. "A lot of them have been on their own for a while."

"You should have been there, though," Skywarp insisted. "Dead End was just so fragging creepy. I had my null ray to his head and all he did was stare, and then he asked me if I was going to kill him. He actually looked disappointed when I said no. Seriously, he was _disappointed_."

"Dead End was always unusual," Sunstorm said, looking away absently.

The sound of a sharp fist striking the windows resounded in the room. All optics shot to Starscream. His impatience radiated from him in waves.

"Starscream," Skywarp said softly, inclining his head.

A ripple seemed to pass over the roan-red Seeker at the sound of his designation. His optics flickered. Worry was there for one moment, then his expression moulded into something far more familiar. The brief expression was enough for Skywarp to know that his brother was glad to have him back.

"Did they submit to us?" Starscream asked.

"Yes, they agreed," Skywarp replied. "Most of the bots I collected are on the auxiliary ships right now. They're getting some energon and rest, and the medics will be able to look at them later."

"Good," Starscream said, nodding sharply. It did not serve their purpose to have weak warriors fighting for them. If they could spare the supplies, it was given to the weak and weary to restore them to proper fighting form. Most bots tended to be a little wary of the kindness when they found out who was extending it to them, but most settled down after the first couple of orns. Starscream was not looking for power over them this time around, not like when he squabbled with Megatron for control of the Decepticons. Now he sought their trust and willingness to fight with him. It was such a complete turnaround that some bots were still stunned by it.

"Stunticons wouldn't go quietly, though," Skywarp admitted.

Starscream arched an optic ridge. "Oh?"

"Motormaster insisted on speaking with you. He was bent on causing a scene, so I brought him here with the rest of his team. They're out in the hall right now."

"Figures," Starscream sighed.

"Gestalt teams are always more trouble than what they're worth," Acidstorm snorted.

"They're used to getting their own way, that's why they're like that," Thundercracker rumbled. "All they have to do is threaten with their gestalt form and most bots crumble."

"I've come too far to crumble for some lost little team," Starscream said. "If I can deal with the likes of the Constructicons and Combaticons, then I can deal with the Stunticons."

"Should I let them in?" Skywarp wondered.

Starscream flicked his hand in the air. "Just Motormaster- I don't want to deal with the rest of them. I have enough of a headache as it is."

"Should we leave?" Sunstorm wondered, half rising from his seat.

"Stay," Starscream ordered.

Skywarp quickly glided to the door and let it hiss opened, ushering Motormaster's large form into the dark room. The rest of the Stunticons crowded in the doorway, peering in. They tried to get in, but Skywarp pushed them out. Dead End made a strange sound when his optics landed on Starscream. Quicker than what could be stopped, he slipped beneath Skywarp's arms and wandered in at Motormaster's side. The door was snapped closed in the faceplates of the rest of the gestalt team. Through the door, muffled curses could be heard.

Starscream leaned back against the window and watched the large gestalt leader approach. They were roughly the same height, though Motormaster probably had more mass on him. They sized each other up, taking note of what was different and what stayed the same. If they were to fight, who would win? Motormaster's gaze briefly drifted to the four other Seekers in the room, noting that he was severely outnumbered in this situation. His stance stiffened discretely, but Starscream was unworried. There would only be talk between them. Only talk.

"I thought you were dead," Motormaster said, choosing to be the first to speak. There was always a certain kind of power in being the first to say something.

"I was, for a time," Starscream replied, inclining his head with a dangerous smirk.

Motormaster's mouthplates curled in distaste, not sure how to interpret the words.

"May I say, you _look_ dead," intoned the Seeker.

"Some of us haven't been so lucky these past vorns," Motormaster replied tightly. He was more grey than black, stripped down to his metal. Blisters and thick scar tissue covered him, his movements stiff. He looked physically drained, as if it took more effort than he had just to stay on his feet.

Dwarfed by his leader, Dead End stood in Motormaster's shadow. There was a strange expression on his face beyond the normal moroseness that Starscream remembered. It was morbid fascination. Darting optics tracked up and down Starscream's frame, entranced by something. Skywarp hissed quietly at the Dead End, but it did little to distract the Stunticon from his enthralment.

"What is the meaning of this, Starscream?" Motormaster asked, optics narrowing. He crossed his arms over his barrel chest, the joints in his arms groaning and creaking.

"I'm building an army and I want you in it," Starscream said simply.

"Is that what you've been doing with all those other camps you've attacked?" the Stunticon asked warily. He'd seen the armada of warships, dozens of them gravitating around the main body of the gigantic ship they were on now. There had to be dozens of bots supporting each of those ships. Maybe more than a hundred. It was more Cybertronians than Motormaster had seen in a very long time.

"Of course," Starscream replied with a brief shrug. "I'm not interested in killing anyone. I am collecting up as many former Decepticons as I can to help in the coming battle. In return for submitting to me, they are given energon, medical attention, and a place to rest. We will need every capable warrior we can get our hands on."

"Megatron's not even dead a vorn and you think you can just move in and restart a war? Have you gone completely insane?" Motormaster exclaimed.

"No, I would have to say that I'm more sane now than I have been in a very long time," Starscream assured, his optics flashing. "Megatron may be dead, but that doesn't mean that the universe is free of him. I'm not trying to restart a war that lost its meaning a long time ago. What I am trying to do is prepare for the war that coming soon." His gaze drifted to the windows, staring out at the endless blackness of space. "Maybe it's already started…"

Motormaster growled deeply. "What kind of war could possibly be coming?"

The tension in the room kicked up a notch as the four Seekers at the table tensed. Thundercracker's hands curled into wary fists. Sunstorm's stare was avid.

Starscream paused, thinking about what he could say. There was the truth, but that didn't always turn out very well. More than a few bots accused him of still being a raving lunatic. No one wanted to believe that _real_ monsters existed. He needed the Stunticons, so he opted for something that was far more believable. Not quite a lie, but instead a very vague version of the truth.

"There is a power on Earth that was awakened when Megatron was destroyed," he said slowly, measuring his words carefully. "It's dangerous and powerful and darker than anything you can imagine. It is a living black hole capable of devouring everything we hold dear."

"I've never heard of such a thing," Motormaster said, frowning.

"Now you have," Starscream said tightly.

Dead End made a small noise, seeming to wither where he stood. Whether it was from pleasure or terror, no one could tell. Motormaster extended a hand to the small bot, easing him further back, making sure he was protected.

"I didn't believe it at first, but he's not lying," Acidstorm intoned, though a tad reluctantly. "There are more things in this universe than science has yet to explain."

Motormaster briefly sized up the scientist, frowning.

Sunstorm shifted in his seat, opening his mouthplates… no doubt about to say something about Primus and Unicron. Too many meetings had been ruined when bringing up slag like that. Normal Cybertronians didn't want to hear stuff like that when someone is trying to talk them into joining a new war. Thundercracker quickly stretched out his foot and stomped down on Sunstorm's foot, causing the scholar to squeal.

The Stunticon leader stared at the golden Seeker for longer than necessary before turning back to regard Starscream. "About this so-called living black hole…"

"Yes?" Starscream prompted, forcing himself not to look more anxious than he felt. He resisted the urge to clench his fists.

"Why is it suddenly your job to stop it? Why do you have to raise an army?" Motormaster asked guardedly. "It sounds suspicious to me, like just another bid for power from you."

"It probably does," Starscream sighed. "All I can tell you is the same thing I have told every other bot who has joined me here- that it's time the Decepticons did something worth while. We were in the wrong when we sided with Megatron. He was _sick_ and he spread his infection to the rest of us. Under his command, we fought, killed, and destroyed until there was nothing left." He turned, laying his palm flat to the glass. It was cool under his touch, soothing. "This is our chance to do something right, before it's too late."

"I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you," Motormaster intoned, laughing softly, disbelievingly. "It's like you're not even the same bot I knew."

"That's because I'm not," Starscream replied. He cycled air for a moment, letting it sigh out his vents. He shuttered his optics for a moment, and when he opened them again, their glow was like a pair of hot coals in the dark window. "I'm not the same Starscream that the Decepticons knew. I am not the Starscream that served and hated Megatron. I'm different. I know that a monster is out there and I _have_ to be the one to do something about it."

As if it was some kind of atonement.

Motormaster considered the Seeker with a darkly pensive stare, moved by the passion behind the words. There was a chance that this was an intensely elaborate trap of some kind, or a bizarre case of mass-insanity which all Seekers and many other bots had fallen under, but Starscream had an air about himself that was entirely convincing. He contained an aura of abject honesty that had never been there before… it was rather disturbing, but entrancing at the same time.

"I am asking you to be a part of this, Motormaster. Your team is the only intact gestalt team with all its original members. You're strong and you know battle." Starscream turned into the room again, his expression carefully placed. "I can give you energon here, medical attention… when was the last time you can say you have a proper berth to recharge in? All I ask is that you fight this one last time, and this time, you'll be fighting for the right reasons."

The Seekers exchanged impressed glances. The speech got better every time they heard it.

Motormaster stood for several long moments, considering the offer being presented to him. Sad to say, but it was the best offer he'd heard in a long time. He wasn't too big on fight any kind of freaky black hole or whatever it was supposed to be, but he needed the energon and all the other stuff. His team was tired and desperately needed medical attention. If he turned this down, there weren't a lot of better options to turn to.

"Alright, fine, you got me and the others," he rumbled.

Starscream flashed the barest of smiles. "I'm glad to hear that I have your cooperation. I'll have someone escort you to your new rooms."

"No need. We'll crash where we want to." He turned on his heel and made his way to the door, looking resigned to whatever bizarre fate he had just agreed to. Dead End followed him for most of the way, but paused at the door. He lingered there, simply staring without blinking. His gaze did not leave Starscream.

Starscream arched his optic ridges at the mech. "See something interesting, Dead End?"

The Stunticon canted his head, a frown pulling at his mouthplates. "It's what I don't see that I find more interesting."


	16. To Return Home II

So, for anyone who was curious about what was going on with the Cybertronians living at Carnéval, this is the chapter for you. ^_^ Took me a little bit to finally get around to them, but I'm actually quite happy with the way things turned out. Both Carnéval and the bots living there have changed in the last seven years since we saw them in _As We Come Together, _and it's always a delight to take in those changes and perhaps laugh at some of the adjustments that these hardcore badass Decepticons have had to make in order to live on Earth and not go crazy while doing it. =P

My deepest and sincerest thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter~! I love you guys! 8D

**animelover1993**- Aww, even if you are on your phone, you enjoyment of the chapter comes through. Thank you for reviewing~

**GBscientist**- I'm not an expert at writing Starscream's character, so I'm glad that you thought him competent and charismatic. ^_^ As for Dead End and his contemplation of the nature of death, that was perhaps the most fun I had writing the chapter. =P What Dead End happened to not see around Starscream, I'll let you ponder on it. =P

**Kai-Chan94**- Whoa, I'm glad that I could portray one of your favourite characters with a smidgeon of dignity, since I've never really written for Starscream before. ^_^; As for how the Autobots will react to the Neo-Decepticons (it's what I've been calling them in my head XD), only time will tell. =P

**renegadewriter8**- Haha, yeah, Starscream is definitely back to kick some ass! Whether or not he joins the Autobots is a completely different story. =P

**CNightJoy**- I'll let you ponder on what Dead End might or might not have seen around Starscream. =P Bumblebee is going to be a pretty big player in the story, so hopefully his background will eventually be revealed. ^_^

**Transformerslover95**- lol~ You certainly enjoy your Seekers, don't you? Their wings really are a handsome, distracting feature, aren't they? Maybe I should write more of them, hmm? =P

**Bluebird Soaring**- It's very true, isn't it? Near Death or Real Death experiences tend to change a person- Starscream's special that instead of turning him crazy, they make him sane. =P The markings on him are a little homage to his Bayverse self, but like most things in _War Eternal_, I just tweak things from different TF series and make them new here. =P

**JenEvan**- You're the first reviewer I've had whose really commented on the different little gifts that I gives to the Cybertronians. I'm glad you're intrigued by the matter. I've always thought the universe was too big a place to understand it all, so I sort of add that to this series in the form of 'talents' that humans and Cybertronians alike can have. ^_^ You're certainly right about the panic the Seekers/Neo-Decepticons will stir when they hit Earth, but hopefully they'll find a way to work with the Autobots. =P

**Flameshield**- Wow, thank you. I'm happy to have made the characters feel real to you. Whether or not Starscream and his army teams up with the Autobots... only time will tell. =P

**femme4jack**- Haha, I love how you make the distinction that Starscream is "fairly sane"! Yes, I doubt he could ever be completely sane, no matter how well he's doing. XD Aww, that's great to hear that you enjoyed Dead End's musings. He was a very interesting character to write for. =P

**Standout4Christ**- Well, maybe he's seen the light, or maybe he's just so crazy that he looks sane! XD Lucifer in this series is the Lucifer of Earth that most know, yes. Earth his is planet, so he most certainly does not want to share with anyone else, let alone have some planet-eater _eat_ it.

**phoebe turner**- Thanks!

**1bloodtempest**- Well, my dear, you are always able to ask "if the creature inside Megatron did not live nor was it dead, then how is it existing?" but you'll probably only get an answer that will make your head explode. XD The glyphs on Starscream do happen to be ancient Cybertronian- poor Sunstorm would love to know what they mean, but he's not as fluent in the written language as he'd like to be. ^_^; Haha, it took you a couple readings to figure out the hint at the end? It was meant to be ambiguous, but it's always good to hear that readers catch on to the mysteries. Whether Dead End says anything to anyone, only time will tell. =P

**Midnight Marquis**- Heh, I think 'not insane' is probably a relative phrase when being used in reference to Seekers. XD I thought I explained it in the chapter, but the Seekers have been out gathering the stray Decepticons lurking around space to harangue them into Starscream's army to fight Unicron. XD

**abarai-san**- What Starscream might be missing and whether or not the Seekers and Autobots are able to work together when the time comes... only time will tell. =P I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter so much, though. ^_^ As for Shockwave's character- he's always been a bit of a lame character from G1, but I generally tweak a lot of the characters that show up in this series to make them a little more dangerous and/or fascinating. ^_^

**Queen of the Red Skittles**- Thank you very much for your kind words~ Starscream's character development was a fun twist to make. ^_^

**Lecidre**- Decepticons have never been my forte, so I'm happy that a Decepticon fangirl like yourself enjoyed my attempts at portraying the Decepticons. =) I was actually worried that I would completely screw it up and have people rolling their eyes at it. ^_^; I've never actually watched Armada, so I don't know how Starscream acted in that one... Was he really that different? It sounds like something I should watch, just to get acquainted with the idea. XD Awww, my dear, you're are full of so many pretty words! It blows me away that you even picked up on the subtle things I threw into the chapter, like Motormaster protecting Dead End from the Seekers. You are so amazing! Thank you for being such an awesome reader and friend! *hugs*

This chapter is dedicated to knitting. You'll see what I mean.

Read, Review, and Enjoy~ ^_^

**May We Never Let Go  
To ****Return Home II**

It was autumn on the Labradorean coast, meaning the sun had turned from the blazing golden warmth of summer to a distant silver-gold shine of piercing light but little warmth. The greens, browns, and greys of the landscape exploded into colour as the trees shed their leaves, leaving carpets of reds, yellows, and oranges everywhere. The air lost its cloying humidity, turning it crisp and refreshing with a side of chill that hinted at the bitter winter to come. Being so close to the brutal Atlantic Ocean, salt clung to the air in layers thick enough to be felt- the scent, taste, and dry, scratching sensation of it everywhere.

That same sea salt clung to Barricade and Flamewar's alt modes as they prowled the streets of a human town called Moose Wash. Although 'prowling' was a loose term when they weren't really doing anything more than rolling through the quiet streets at a leisurely pace. Their alt modes were currently shifted to sport police appearances because they were on duty, though they retained hints about themselves that said they certainly were _not _ordinary Earth vehicles. The lack of drivers was dead giveaway. Had they not been on duty, they would have looked like perfectly ordinary civilian cars... aside from the fact that they would have been too expensive for any of the residents of the town to ever dream of buying.

The town itself was a dull little spot in the middle of nowhere that sat only an hour away from Carnéval, its main forms of economy being fishing and tourism. The fishing was an obvious thing, being so close to the ocean. Nothing industrial or anything, just small fishing boats for a family business or two. It was the kind of economy that no one got rich off of. The tourism had been an odd side-effect of the Cybertronians living so close by. Humans who weren't scared out of their minds or pissed off with the Cybertronians sometimes travelled out to this middle-of-nowhere town in hopes of catching a glimpse of an alien robot or two. If they could, they tried to take pictures, though not every Cybertronian appreciated being treated like a sideshow. A localized electromagnetic burst usually remedied the situation. The residents of Moose Wash respected their alien neighbours enough not to exploit their presence with t-shirts or stupid tourist slag like that. Most folks were just happy that a little extra cash was coming their way from the random tourists- it was enough to keep food on the table, so people were content.

Sideswipe, on the other hand, had very little shame and only a smidgeon of respect, so he had had no qualms about setting up a tiny shop in town selling t-shirts and other little bobbles with pictures of Carnéval and various Cybertronians on them. He shared the profits with the whole base, because they were always in desperate need of funds to keep their ramshackle home running. Sideswipe's business sense, which he had developed in Kaon as a merchant, kept his little business afloat. He had very little trouble running it, even when he was a long distance away on duty as an Autbot. The symbiotes usually took shifts working in the shop, because they were small enough to get in the door without having to use a hologram. Laserbeak was a favourite of townspeople and tourists alike, since she had perfected the art of making a perfect cup of tea to serve when possible customers wandered in.

But a little alien-run shop was not the only mark the Cybertronians made on the town.

Barricade and Sunstreaker shared a small gallery tucked away on the main road where they let their sculptures and paintings be displayed and sold. For any alien enthusiast or art connoisseur, the art gallery was a _must_ to go see. Art work done by aliens was so in vogue. There was nothing else like it on Earth. Literally. Richer humans liked to buy the pieces, even if they were expensive. The more unusual or expensive a piece tended to be, the more that eccentric humans seemed to want it.

An added bonus of having giant alien robots wandering around town? Moose Wash got free wireless internet access.

What did the Cybertronians get out of the deal? Well, as much as a lot of them loathed to admit it, they got friends. _Human_ friends. Admittedly, it went against their old Decepticon programming to have organic friends who were kind of ugly and a bit smelly, but living only an hour away from town basically meant that when someone was bored in Carnéval, they _had_ to go to Moose Wash for something to do. If they wanted to be in their true forms, they were usually stuck sitting outside somewhere. The parks, sports fields, and parking lots were good places to sit down and have a chat with some human friends who came out to hang. But if they deigned to use their holograms, bots could find all sorts of interesting things to do, like bowling. Carnéval had an excellent bowling team that played against the humans at least once a month. They also liked to karaoke, blaming their love of it on their Cybertronian instinct to mimic and impersonate. As it turned out, Soundwave was a talented crooner with a speciality in soulful jazz & blues that could make a room full of human women sway.

Adapting to life on Earth wasn't for everyone, but the bots at Carnéval did the best they could with what they had.

Barricade was among the ones who had adapted quite nicely to life on the eastern Canadian coast. He did not mind patrolling the streets as a police car, minus the punishing and enslaving he would have done in his old gig as a Decepticon. He liked the thrill of the chase if some slag-heap human started causing trouble and it fell to him to bring the little meat-sack in. Or run him down. Whichever form of violence Barricade happened to be in the mood for at the time. The local police department didn't mind his presence, nor did they mind any of the other Cybertronians' presences if they decided to volunteer, though it was hardly necessary when the town itself was so quiet it could have been catatonic.

Living in a quiet town was a surprisingly nice change from fighting an endless war orn after orn.

And if he wasn't being a cop for the humans, Barricade spent his Sunday afternoons at the Senior's Club as a hologram with a group of old ladies who liked to gossip and teach him how to knit. It was a strange story how he'd ended up attending, but to sum it up, it involved getting a cat out of a tree and being given a knitted scarf big enough to wrap around his little finger in return. The senior women didn't mind that he was an alien robot, or that he was actually thousands of years older than them. Whether he appeared to them as a hologram or a robot, he was treated like a young man half their age. To be quite honest, it was slightly refreshing to be teased and scolded by the senior women as if he were their son- they weren't afraid of him in the least. They liked showing him new patterns for knitting and complimenting him on his cross-stitching when he sat in the parking lot in his true form and worked on protective tarp cloaks for his group that would protect their joints from ice in the winter and protect their paint from salt all year round. Apparently, he was a natural at cross-stitching, but he needed a lot of practice at knitting.

Flamewar outright _refused_ to admit she had a sparkmate who knitted.

Oh yes, things certainly had changed since he had first landed on Earth as a Decepticon.

The sound of running footsteps across cracked pavement caught Barricade's attention. He slowed down in the street, Flamewar doing the same behind him. The cars behind them stopped as well, but no one bothered to lay on their horn or shout for them to move. The humans waited patiently, perfectly aware that the Cybertronians would move when they wanted to.

"Mr Barricade! Mr Barricade!" came a familiar young voice.

"Officer Barricade!" yelled another young voice.

"Tim and Dick again," Flamewar muttered, though her tone was more amused than disgruntled.

Barricade let the two younglings run up to his side, skidding to a halt with their shoelaces trailing, panting from the effort of their run. They were a scrawny pair, dark hair on each and dirt on their hands and knees. Freckles splotched one while the other wore thick glasses that made his eyes look too big for his head. When they gained enough air, they straightened and immediately started chattering at him.

"Mr Barricade, Lucy's stuck in a tree again!" Tim announced, his cheeks pink beneath his freckles.

"She's too scared to come down," Dick corroborated, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"You have to get her down before she falls!"

"Please!"

Oh yes, the old _Girl Stuck in a Tree _emergency again.

Definitely a job for a giant alien robot... _Not._

Of course, all the kids in town ran to the nearest Cybertronian for help whenever something happened, instead of doing the smart thing- like running to the police or fire department. They all had the strangest sense in their heads that a giant alien robot could always save the day. Probably from watching too many cartoons. What was even more irksome than their insistence of coming to the Cybertronians was their damned habit of referring to them with human titles. No matter how many times the transformers insisted that it really wasn't necessary, the children persisted in calling them "Mr" "Miss" "Officer" and in Virus's case, "Doctor".

"Lucy's stuck in a tree...again?" Barricade rumbled, wishing he could arch an optic ridge at the younglings. He settled for shifting on his tyres.

"Yes!" they coursed together.

Barricade sighed, swishing open his doors. "Get in and we'll go get her down."

The two boys scrambled in eagerly, buckling themselves in because this was not their first time riding with Barricade. He refused to drive anywhere unless all passengers under the age of 16 were safely buckled. The lights glared on his roof and his siren wailed as he did a U-turn in the middle of the road and sped off to the one tree he was usually fishing Lucy out of. Flamewar came on his tail, though she didn't bother with the lights and siren. By the time they made it to the tree in the large park on the outskirts of town, a small group of kids had already gathered to stare at the poor girl clinging to the high branches of the tree. She swayed with every breeze. Lucy's mother had marched across the park from their squat home across the road, slippers on her feet, curlers in her hair, and a housecoat knotted around her waist. When the mother spotted Barricade and Flamewar approaching, her relief and embarrassment were evident.

"Thank you for coming, you two," she said, stepping back while Tim and Dick jumped out and the two robots in disguise assumed their bipedal modes. "I know this must be a terrible inconvenience for you when the kids are always getting into trouble and running to you..."

"It's no problem," Barricade assured, taking the few steps needed to stand next to the tree. He could see Lucy hugging one of the top branches, her round face pale, her brown eyes wide. She was above his head, but not beyond reach.

"Hi, Mr Barricade," said the little girl, gulping. She would have waved at him, but she didn't dare let go of her branch. Like most of the young children in town, she had known the Cybertronians for most of her life, so she found it perfectly normal to see cars turn into robots, and for robots to get her out of trees.

"Lucy, you know you're afraid of heights. What were you thinking when you climbed this high?" Barricade chastised lightly, reaching in past the colourful foliage to catch her up in his clawed hand.

"The boys were teasing me about being a sissy girl," Lucy replied, clinging fretfully to one of his fingers. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.

"But you _are_ a girl," Barricade pointed out.

"I don't want to be a _sissy, _though!" cried the little girl.

Barricade immediately turned his red stare down to the scattering of young boys around his feet. He frowned at them, making his displeasure obvious. A number of the more skittish kids inched away, their faces turning red. It was too much like being back in Centaurie Tetrax, getting after a bunch of youngling for teasing one another. Back then, he would have stuck the younglings on shelves too high for them to get off of. On Earth, he generally assigned a fate much worse- he turned them over to their mothers.

Flamewar sidled up with a peculiar look on her faceplate. "Hey Lucy, if you want, I can teach you a move or two so the boys won't think you're a sissy," she offered, smiling that scary smile of hers that tended to turn Barricade on. She was such a beautiful warrior, full of scars and spiky armour, looking like a mutant metal porcupine.

While the humans of Moose Wash didn't know that Flamewar used to kill things for sport and fun, they knew she was the least human-friendly of the bunch. For anyone who ever saw her wrestle with the twins or her femmes, Roulette and Nightbird, they knew she was a mean bitch who fought dirty.

The boys took off running the moment they heard the offer, too scared of Flamewar to stick around long. Her offer pretty much guaranteed that Lucy would never be messed with again. Lucy herself grinned at the offer, but said that her mom might not like it. The little girl was handed to her mother, Edith, who fussed for a short while, then turned back to the Cybertronians.

"Lucy, what do you say to Officer Barricade?"

Lucy scuffed her feet in the dirt, her cheeks now stained pink for a different reason while one of her thin hands clutched her mother's housecoat. "Thank you, Officer Barricade."

"You're welcome," Barricade replied, hearing Flamewar snicker in the background.

"I don't know what this town would do without you," Edith said, a wry smile playing at her lips. She tried to smooth back her hair, only to remind herself that it was still in curlers. Her cheeks pinked, but she held on to her dignity valiantly. "God only knows, there'd be a lot less people around to fish kids out of trees."

Barricade cast a humoured look to his mate before regarding the human woman. "Just doing our... job." It sounded so weird to say that, even after a number of years of repeating the same thing.

"Might not be doing it for long," Flamewar muttered, a bitter edge lacing her rough voice. "You know, there's some talk of your military forcing us out of Carnéval."

Edith's eyes grew round, a single hand shot to her mouth while the other that still held her daughter to her side tightened. Like most humans, she had been wary at first when she had learned that giant alien robots lived so close to town, but several years later had fostered a fondness for the quirky aliens. Lucy wrapped her arms around her mother and sniffed. "They can't possibly do that, at least not without a grounded reason."

"Grounded reason is that we're Decepticons," Flamewar snorted.

Edith waved that aside, as if the title meant nothing to her. "All of you have been so wonderful here, you haven't caused a single bout of trouble. In fact, you've done so much for us! There is absolutely no reason to make you go anywhere."

"You and I know very well that none at Carnéval would hurt any of you, but others are aware that we are Decepticons. Optimus Prime may not have grudges against us anymore, but the same cannot be said for all humans. Your government just wants to make sure that its people are safe, and it makes them very uncomfortable to know that creatures like us are running free around here," Barricade replied in that low, reasonable voice of his. "Decepticons do not have the best reputations."

"Ex-Decepticons!" Lucy shouted indignantly, only to be shushed by her mother, who turned her clouded gaze upward again.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the increase in human-on-alien violence, would it?" Edith asked shrewdly, pursing her thin lips.

"Quite possibly," Barricade replied with a tired shrug. "The attacks are mostly humans attacking organic aliens, but no one seems to want to take chances with a bunch of... _ex_-Decepticons going about. There's always a chance that one of us might want to take revenge, and if that happened, there would be _a lot_ of damage before we could be stopped. Worse yet, humans and Autobots alike worry that one of us will be hired to do something that everyone will regret."

While the original bots of Carnéval weren't strictly mercenaries anymore, some still liked to stick to their roots. If they were hired for something and the price was right, then there wasn't much that would stop them from completing the contract... even if that contract might be wiping out a town or city of humans in return for murdering an organic alien beaten to death in a mobbing.

Edith sagged. "Oh, I see."

"If they want us gone, then..." Flamewar shrugged, growling. If the humans came to force her out of her home, she'd have to... submit. Damn it. She couldn't fight, because it would make things worse for everyone. Her frame tensed in agitation, soothed by Barricade taking her hand and squeezing it.

Barricade answered for her, "We'd have to move to an EDC base."

Flamewar scowled, hating the mere idea. Carnéval was fine because it was home with other Decepticons, but EDC bases were full of humans and Autobots. Funny how she'd rather take a human-infested coastal town in the middle of nowhere than a Cybertronian-built place filled with her own species.

The human woman pressed her spooked daughter to her side. "I know things are tough. People are blaming you for things you don't have any control of, like humans attacking other aliens and all those attacks on energy stations. It's so crazy that you get caught up in it all. You're good people, you know? Moose Wash is better with you here." She smiled, tired but genuine. "If it's any consolation, _we _want you to stay."

It felt weird to be told such things when they had spent so many vorns being told otherwise. Pit, they even thought of themselves as otherwise. Plenty of humans around the world liked broadcasting the fact that Cybertronians sucked. Having lived so long in one mindset, it was a little hard to change that.

"Thank you," Barricade rumbled, glancing away. "We should- uh... we should get back to patrol."

They transformed and returned to the road, one more good deed done to help outweigh the thousands of bad things they'd spent a lifetime doing.

* * *

Soundwave was so high in the atmosphere, he might as well have been in space. If he flew a little higher, maybe his wings could brush the stars like he did the clouds? Some nights he wished to fly high enough to grasp one of the tiny stars dotting the sky and put it in a jar, keep it with him throughout the day when he couldn't see them at all.

He liked taking night flights for many reasons, but mostly because the night sky gave the illusion of living in a place that had no limits. He especially enjoyed flying out over the ocean, as far as he dared to go out, so that the dark, diamond-studded horizon melded with the sparkling mirror waters below. It created the reflected images created an endless reflection; no ends to the horizon, no limit to the sky above, no bottom to the ground below. Pure, beautiful freedom. The kind of freedom he had dreamt of so sadly for so many vorns while he had been in Megatron's service, reluctantly contracted to work with the tyrant to ensure the safety of those he loved.

Earth provided many freedoms, one being a semi-release from the war, but it was not perfect.

The closest that Soundwave came to his desired peace was his night flights when he could imagine he was in some sort of limitless heaven where the skies and grounds merged into one endless, diamond encrusted oasis.

A communications channel beeped to life in his head. It was Ravage.

"Sorry to interrupt your flight, Soundwave, but you requested that I alert you when Drift arrived," said the feline symbiote, his deep voice resonating through the channel.

"Acknowledged." With no point lingering on the line now that the information had been passed, Soundwave cut from the channel and wheeled around in the air to head back to the distant shore. When normally he might have slowed his pace and allowed himself a few extra moments of freedom in the wide open skies, he felt that greeting Drift after the mech's long absence was the right thing to do. He put on an extra burst of speed, letting the sea and sky blur together.

Home came into sight almost too soon.

As always, he garnered a very odd sense when coming upon Carnéval. It was a mix of eclecticism and scrapheap, simultaneously familiar and foreign. What had begun as merely a small patch of land on the very edge of a cliff had expanded into a comfortable sprawl spanning a good chunk of the rocks and water. They had left the trees as undisturbed as possible, understanding that without their roots holding the soil together, the cliff would crumble into the ocean. The organic twists and turns of the green and brown trees mixed with the unforgiving lines and colours of metals that comprised the various buildings and power stations that kept Carnéval together and running. Though the night dulled the vibrancy of the jewel at the centre of the base, Sideswipe's old merchant ship, the _Loki_, stood tall and proud, it's graffitied sides glittering and gaudy with hundreds of thousands of ancient images once painted by Sunstreaker. Seven years before, it would have been the _Darksyde_ at the center, but that ship had been sacrificed during the Desert Battle. The _Loki _had soon after become the living hub of their home.

But it was not only the top of the cliff that Carnéval encompassed. Anchored to the face of the cliff was a tangled spiderweb of scaffolding used to hold up dozens of random platforms and crooked shelves. Between the scaffolding and platforms, hundreds of modified windmills and solar panels stuck out, seeking to collect as much energy as they possibly could so it could be converted into energon. Farther down, there were turbines thrust into the pounding surf of the ocean to make use of the energy stored in the violent waters. Stairs darted every which way- up, down, vertical and horizontal- while a series of pulleys and lifts were dotted at irregular intervals, and near them was always an energon station when the energy gathered was funnelled and treated to turn it into the base materials for energon, which were then piped up to the top of the cliff via glowing tubes snaking in every direction that shone in several shades of neon. The cliff face constantly looked like a hub of kinetic activity, even when the place wasn't moving.

Despite the antagonistic relationship that Cybertronians had toward the ocean and its eroding tendencies toward them, Carnéval also spilled out into the water. More accurately, it spread across the surface of the water like a floating island of creaking, groaning, rusting metal. Ships of all kinds had come into their care over the years, either donated to them, stolen, or found fairly floating in the middle of the ocean, abandoned by their owners. There were cruise ships and warships, one submarine, and a slew of smaller random ships. They were all gutted on the inside to allow the larger Cybertronians to traverse them easily. The hulls were sealed together, locking them in place like a gigantic game of tetris. Ocean waters constantly tossed the floating island around, dislodging ships during storms so it became necessary to constantly go looking for pieces of their home that might have floated off during the night.

In the dark of the night, the place truly looked like its namesake- it looked like a _carnival_. Perhaps a frightening one. Lights were strung from every place that could hold a light- little lights that humans hang from their houses dangling alongside blazing floodlights. Blinking lights strung up alongsight glittering ones that looked like diamonds. Rope-like lights snaked their way through the shadows, which were actually just clear tubes of cycling energon so that the fluid could lend its glow around the sprawling camp. Up and over the cliff and into the ocean, the lights shone like a whacked out rainbow gypsy carnival. There was no fashion to any of the gaudy display, pairing all manners of colours together- reds, oranges, and yellows flashing, while blues and purples shivered. Greens blared and soft white lights glowed. Shadows danced and writhed up and down the cliff, across the ground, between the trees, and beneath the tides of the ocean, all seemingly moving in time to the music that was constantly drifting around the camp.

It was garish and should have been ugly, but for some reason, in acknowledging the flaws in his home, Soundwave thought it beautiful in its own unique way.

Close enough to shut his engines off, Soundwave glided in silently. He transformed and set down in the open "courtyard" that spread out in from of the _Loki_. It was an open semi-circle where the ground had been tiled over to create a swirling mosaic that made you dizzy if you stared too long or walked across it too fast. His appearance barely caused a stir on the scene.

Roulette and Nightbird lurked to the side, but they did not even bother to look up to greet him. They were too engrossed in their game of chess, their sharp, sleek bodies hunched over while they harboured murder in their burning red optics, plotting the other's demise. Soundwave was unbothered by their lack of acknowledgement, preferring that they ignored him, since most of what ever came out of their mouthplates was harassment and vitriol. They were typical Decepticon femmes in that respect. They were also short-tempered and extremely brutal, which made them particular favourites of Flamewar's.

From the speakers near him, Soundwave could make out the soft swells of music drifting through the night. The band Five Finger Death Punch singing one of their softer songs-

_'Cause it's almost like,  
Your heaven's trying to break me down.  
'Cause it's almost like,  
Your heaven's trying everything to keep me out..._

Yeah, Soundwave sometimes felt that way, too.

Between the many shadowed shapes of the buildings and trees, Ravage approached like the embodiment of a shadow. His red gaze was a floating ball of fire slithering through the dark, his clawed paws barely making a sound as they scraped through dry grass and leaves. As he came into the courtyard, he passed by three large boulders of black stone. His long tail trailed across the rocks closest to him in a fashion that was more reverent than absent-minded. The rocks were monuments to the dead. One for Nightshade, Soundwave's dead apprentice, and the other two for Virus's silent but surprisingly wise companions, Worm and Trojan Horse.

Cybertronians did not normally commemorate deaths with any type of ritual, but in this they had made an exception. Since there had been nothing left of their frames to break down and incorporate into the living so that the dead could "live on", the rock monuments had been chosen to always have something around.

"Soundwave," Ravage purred, bobbing his head.

"Ravage," Soundwave replied in kind, his deep voice resonating in the chilled air.

Though they intended to exchange a few more words, neither got the chance. The high drone of whining engines drew near, accompanied by a familiar twinge in Soundwave's spark. Frenzy and Rumble appeared seconds later, shifting from their dirt bike alt modes to their bipedal modes, their frames thoroughly caked with mud and leaves. Obviously they had been out with human acquaintances of theirs, driving as fast as they could across the muddy marshes and hidden bogs in the woods. There was no purpose to such activities other than to waste the gas in their dirt bikes and four-wheelers while coating themselves in as much mud physically possibly, but both the symbiotes and the humans enjoyed the exercise, so Soundwave did not complain.

"Is he here yet?" Frenzy asked, casting his electric gaze around.

"No," Soundwave replied.

"He'll be here soon," Ravage intoned.

"Huh, cool," Rumble shrugged. He elbowed his brother. "Let's go play some _Zombie Apocalypse._" They trotted off to the cliff, down the stairs, intending to lose themselves in the mindless violence of human video games. It was a mystery to Soundwave why anyone would want to indulge in pretend violence when they had lived through actual violence for so long.

With Frenzy and Rumble gone, Ravage and Soundwave finally got the chance to exchange some proper words.

Ravage sat on his haunches, peering up at Soundwave unblinkingly. "Did you have a nice flight?"

"It was peaceful."

"I'm glad." He really was. Soundwave worked hard to keep their home running, even if he didn't always get the credit he deserved for the effort. If he could find a little peace while flying the skies, then Ravage was in debt to the sky for the small bit of happiness it offered. His tail swished like a whip behind him as he sat, feeling cold leaves and frost creep up through the cracks in his armour. "Virus called in earlier. Things are getting tense where she is."

Soundwave's optic ridges arched. "What has she done now?"

"Nothing except be her charming self, as far as I can tell," Ravage said, shaking his head. "She says the Fallen has been active on the Autobot base and it has been making everyone a little tense."

"The Fallen would make anyone a little tense," Roulette snorted, revealing that she and Nightbird had been eavesdropping. They didn't bother to look away from their chess game, but they certainly were not about to turn off their audios when they had the option of listening in on others' conversations.

"True," Ravage conceded, inclining his head to the femme.

The low purr of an engine approached, a car's engine rather than a dirt bike's. Listening closely, it was not one but three growling tunes. A quick resonance scan revealed that Flamewar and Barricade must have intercepted Drift before he could make it home. Soundwave turned to watch the approach through the wide gravelled road that cut through the woods. Drift was a shock of snow-white against the darkened backdrop, his sleek Nissan Silvia S15 form looking almost like a serpent gliding across the ground. On either side of him were two dark shapes, Barricade and Flamewar shifted out of their police guises. Once the trio were within the eccentric, multicoloured glow of Carnéval, they transformed into their bipedal forms. They were an eye-catching sight together, a collection of dangerous beauty.

"Finally deigned to make an appearance among us mere mortals, did you?" Nightbird called to Flamewar, teasing in that friendly-mean way of theirs.

"What? Lower and debase myself by being in your presence? _As if_," laughed the ex-femme commander. "I still have my dignity."

"You're such a glitch," Roulette drawled, which prompted the three to laugh.

Barricade rolled his optics, accustomed to the needling between his mate and her femmes. He was okay with it so long as they didn't try to drag him into it. Like most smart (ex)Decepticons, he held a healthy appreciation of femmes [also known as _fear_], especially the Decepticon variety. They were powerful creatures, built for speed, endurance, and agility with no small amount of hidden strength thrown into the mix. He'd never stand a chance if the three of them tried to drag him into their games- the witty or the brutal kind.

"You're no fun anymore," Nightbird sighed, making shooing motions with her hands. "Go away now."

"Prepare to turn off your audios," Flamewar warned with a glittering light in her optics as she took Barricade's arm. Predictably, they offered Soundwave very little acknowledgement, other than a brief nod before they headed straight for the cliff to go down to their own private quarters in one of the gutted cruise ships. By Cybertronian standards, they were still a very new bonded pair, barely out of the honeymoon stage. They preferred to stay in each others' company privately as often as possible. Generally speaking, it usually took half a vorn for bonded pairs to finally get proper bearings about themselves and finally get control of their... _addiction_ to each other. In the meantime, most bots of Carnéval simply shut their audios off or did their best to ignore the unmistakable noises coming from the pair's quarters.

"What would it take to soundproof their quarters?" Nightbird complained, olfactory sensor wrinkling.

Roulette's optics glittered. "We could break down your frame and sell your parts to the humans. I bet we could make enough money to get some real good soundproofing installed."

"Her parts are scarred," Ravage pointed out. "We'd only be able to cover three-quarters of the cost by selling her."

"Bite me," Nightbird snapped.

Ravage smiled a smile full of long, jagged fangs made for shearing through the toughest Cybertronian armour. "Don't tempt me."

"I see things have not changed much since I was here," Drift commented quietly.

"Unfortunately not," Soundwave replied.

"Too bad." Unlike most bots who came to live in Carnéval , Drift was the sort of creature who formality had become so ingrained in his character that he could no longer escape it even if he wanted to. He caught Soundwave's optic before dipping into a polite bow as a greeting, which was returned with the same silent politeness. Like every other transformer that found themselves at Carnéval, Drift was stuck in limbo, someone who did not know where he fit in or what he was supposed to be. He had originally been a Decepticon called Deadlock, but the lifestyle had stopped suiting him long ago. He'd come to Earth as a Neutral with nothing to lose, intending to join the Autobots with the purpose of throwing his life away. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had seen the look in the bot's optics, the same look that they had harboured for a long time, and had encouraged him to come to Carnéval instead to work off the death wish.

"How was your flight back?" Soundwave enquired.

Drift made a brief face. "Had a little bit of trouble in customs in one of my stopovers. Some guard thought I was trafficking drugs in my trunk- I was nearly strip searched." A strip search in a Cybertronian was a bit more involved than on a human, since it consisting of stripping him of _all_ his armour. It was extremely uncomfortable. "Thankfully they settled for just letting a drug-sniffing dog snuffle around in me." Which still was a very uncomfortable experience.

"I'm sorry to hear about the experience," Soundwave replied.

The white mech shrugged, the hilt of a very large sword strapped to his back bobbing with the action. "No need to apologize. This is simply the price I pay for insisting that I travel."

True enough, since Drift did not stay in Carnéval like most everyone else. He was a bit like the twins in that respect, having homes away from home. While he had the same courtesies as everyone else- a room for himself, space to store his weapons and other paraphernalia, and energon rationed for him when he needed it, he was away a lot. Carnéval was peaceful and appropriate for the lost or confused, but it was not somewhere that he wanted to be on a constant basis. Even if he had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, he liked to have _some_ kind of purpose. As a student of diffusion, one of the martial arts styles of Cybertron, he was accustom to a certain kind of teaching and order that had once given him peace. Earth did not have much in the way of diffusion, but training under masters of different human martial arts did bring back the focus and peace of mind that Drift had been in desperate need of. He was away for months at a time studying these new fighting styles. While gone, he stayed in the Buddhist temples where the monks were interested in learning what they could from him while he learned what he could from them.

For this excursion, Drift had been away for eight months.

"How are your Tibet buddies?" Roulette intoned, daring to glance away from her chess game. The moment she looked away, Nightbird switched around several pieces to her advantage.

"The monks are well," Drift replied, his voice low and even. "Tibet was not the only place I visited, though. I also enjoyed time in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Japan."

"No Bhutan this time? I thought you loved the Kingdom of Bhutan?" Nightbird wondered, peering away from the game long enough for Roulette to switch the playing pieces for herself.

The corners of Drift's mouthplates turned up. "I was there for a short time, as well."

Soundwave stared down at the handsome mech, taking in the many changes that had come over the bot since the last time they had seen each other. In the eight months since he had left, Drift's dark grey and yellow paint had been exchanged for a beautiful coat of snow-white paint decorated with swaths of red. The colours looked good on him, making him seem like the was standing straighter and a little prouder. On his shoulders and back, his armour also bore small designs that looked like they were bestowed by the monks... as well as bumper stickers from the dojos he visited. Drift's optics, which had been tired and desolate when he had left, were alive again with an inner peace. Martial arts and Buddhism apparently agreed with him.

"You look well," Soundwave commented.

"I feel much better than I have in a long time," Drift replied, smiling handsomely. "I look forward to going back."

"I don't see why you don't convert to Buddhism completely and just move in with the monks," Roulette snorted.

"Their robes would never fit me," Drift pointed out wryly. "Besides, I'd miss your charming company."

"Suck exhaust," said the femme, with Nightbird snickering in the background.

Soundwave resisted the urge to chuckle.

Drift turned away from the femmes, his gaze sliding up to meet Soundwave's. Beyond the blue light was shadows. His subtle smile turned down and he inclined his head. "I mentioned that I had something to discuss with you..."

"Yes, of course." It was the very reason he had wanted to be informed of Drift's arrival. With a sweeping gesture, he invited the white mech to follow him along the cliff. A brief nod to Ravage ensured that the symbiote would stay with Roulette and Nightbird, making sure that they did not follow. The feline bot prowled over and laid himself next to Nightbird's side, discreetly indicating to the femme which move she should make next. With a hand on Drift's shoulder, Soundwave wandered away from the noise and lights of their home. Soon, even the energy that thrummed through the earth faded. Far enough away, the sounds and smells of the churning ocean one hundred feet below wrapped around them. While neither mech could feel the cold very well, they did feel the water getting into their joints, making them uncomfortable at the prospect of possibly having their joints freeze.

"You did not elaborate in your last transmission what it was you wanted to discuss with me," Soundwave intoned.

"I did not know what I could or should say over the transmission," Drift admitted, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "As you know, when I stay with the monks, they..." he trailed off uncomfortably.

"They tell you things," Soundwave said, nodding. "Yes, you have discussed with me a number of their teachings. I am aware that you are very interested in Buddhism." Religion was not his strong suit, nor was it any Cybertronian's strong suit, but it was a matter that Soundwave did not mind pondering seriously with Drift. It gave them something to talk about, much like he enjoyed debating politics with Ravage. It was a curious thing to think that any transformer might want to convert to an Earth religion, but given that Earth was to be their new home, it seemed somewhat appropriate. Many of the organic alien species on Earth chose to convert when they found something that appealed to them. There was a surprisingly large demographic of Nebulons in Taiwan and Singapore who were Buddhist.

Drift nodded, consulting the frost-crusted grass at his feet. "I was staying at Dharma Drum Mountain in Taiwan before I came here. Before I left, I was given a message."

"Do they no longer wish for you to stay with them?" Soundwave asked carefully, knowing that such a thing would devastate Drift.

"No, nothing of the sort," Drift said quickly. He smiled briefly. "I was actually asked by one of the monks if it was alright if they contacted the EDC base in South Korea to request that small quantities of energon be shipped there so that I would have some when I stayed."

"That was very kind of them," Soundwave commented.

"I am always surprised by their kindness," Drift admitted. "I did not think such kindness existed in the universe anymore."

Soundwave inclined his head, but was more interested in getting back on track. "This message you said they gave you- you were going to share it?"

"Yes, thank you for reminding me. I think it was meant for all of us." His blue gaze, the colour of a tropical ocean, peered up at the stars. Unconsciously, his hand fell to the hilt of one of the swords he carried at his side. His fingers trailed across the worn metal in pensive patterns.

"And that is?" Soundwave prompted.

"Hmm..." It took a moment for Drift to speak. He looked to be having trouble voicing whatever message the monks had given him. His optics were still searching the sky. "I'm not sure what to make of it, you see. It sounds like it might refer to our situation with the Fallen and Unicron, but it may also be something else. Perhaps it is only a simple cosmological phenomenon they wished to pass on to me because I am from space? In all honesty, it may not mean anything at all. They are human, after all. Uncommonly wise, but still very human..."

"You're rambling," Soundwave pointed out.

"My apologies," Drift sighed. He ran his hand over his faceplate, then finally said, "They told me that the stars are screaming."

A chill passed through Soundwave. He had no doubt that the Fallen and Unicron both had the talent for making even the stars scream, but he knew of only one creature who was named for such a thing.

Drift met Soundwave's gaze solemnly. "They also mentioned those stars are getting closer."


	17. To the Quiet Moments

I figured I'd post this chapter in celebration of my school year being done. =P Still got exams coming up, but I'm not too worried. I'm more excited for the summer that's coming up, because I get to do my ethnography/research stuff to do my thesis next year. ^_^ So, yeah, last chapter was a lower review response than I had expected/hoped, but hey, that's life. ^_^; I'm chalking it up to readers in university being busy with end of the year stuff, or perhaps for the ones in high school have papers due or midterms to study for. ^_^; Whatever the case, I wish everyone the best of luck in their work. =) If you're reading this story and have a moment or two to send along your regards, I'd appreciate the encouragement to continue the story. ^_^

**Standout4Christ**- Nah, my dear, they're just the regular kind of monks. They just happen to be particularly perceptive. ^_^

**Animelover1993-** Glad you enjoyed the moment of peace and insight into what's happening with the Carnéval bots. I figured it was time to reveal what they've been doing all this time. Haha, yeah, Barricade knitting is one of the more random things I slipped into the chapter. ^_^; Thank you so much for taking the time to review, you're too kind. =)

**Midnight Marquis**- lol~ There was some definite foreshadowing in the chapter, no subtleties about it. XD You're certainly right about Carnéval being a sanctuary for the bots living there. It may be a crazy place to live, but at least it's crazy in a way that they can handle. =P Thank you so much for reviewing. ^_^

**CNightJoy**- You hit the nail on the head, my friend. The purpose of this chapter was definitely to sneak a peek at what the Carnéval bots have been doing and how they've managed to mellow out amongst humans. =P

**Marsh Queen**- My goodness, you're too kind~ When I write for this series, sometimes I don't think of all of the different kinds of things I insert into the story, they just sort of happen... and then things like Barricade knitting happen completely on purpose. =P It is always a wonderful and humbling thing to hear that readers such as yourself take so much enjoyment in the writing. Thank you so much for taking the time to review. =)

**JenEvan**- Haha, yep, next time you're in Singapore, you should keep your eyes open for the Nebulons! XD Although, if you were ever in Moose Wash, I think you'd have a good time there, too- hanging out with all the alien folk rolling around. =P Awww, my dear, that really means a lot that you think Carnéval sounds amazing. *hugs* I tried my best to write it as I saw in my head, so I was really, really hoping that I could shock and awe a few readers with the same vision. =)

**1bloodtempest**- W00T! Cheers for the knitters! XD Haha, asking if I'm trying to kill you is probably the wrong thing to ask, my dear. *devilish grin* But that aside, yeah, when I was writing about the karaoke, it struck me that Soundwave would probably be really good at the jazz & blues stuff, and he would probably be so hot singing it. XD As for Barricade knitting, he only does it through his human hologram so that he doesn't have to find giant knitting needles, but he does cross-stitch in his regular form to make everyone's tarp cloaks pretty. =P As for alien demographics and EDC bases around the world... well, it might take up more room here than we have to spare to tell you it all. But don't worry, more will be revealed as the story goes on, not to mention the hints that will always be dropped on DeviantART. =P

**Flameshield**- Soundwave has always seemed to be the more contemplative type, so it suits his character to be out flying solo in such a beautiful, yet lonely setting. Thank you so much for your kind words. It's wonderful to hear that you enjoyed the chapter. =)

**Renegadewriter8**- Haha, Barricade knitting was definitely one of the more random things I slipped into the chapter- I'm glad that you got a laugh out of it. =P

**femme4jack**- Haha, I gotta tell you, it's a delight to hear that you got a kick out of the 'Cons at Carnéval, because it was a hoot writing about them. Barricade knitting was one of those random things that I just had to throw in there. XD It's wonderful to hear that you're delighted with Drift's portrayal. He's seems like such an intriguing TF, I wanted to do him justice. =)

Special shout-out to **1bloodtempest**, who was kind enough to read this beforehand and be the wall I could bounce ideas off of. ^_^

Read, Review, and Enjoy~

**May We Never Let Go  
To the Quiet Moments**

"You're starting to worry me, dearspark," Chromia intoned, startling her mate from his task. A small clatter followed as delicate tools and small metal pieces fell from between Ironhide's large fingers, scattering in a mess across his worktable and clattering to the floor. He sent one brief glance up to his mate, then quickly stooped to start gathering the errant pieces that had gotten away from him.

"Ironhide?" Chromia intoned softly.

"I'm sorry, I was distracted. I didn't know you were there," Ironhide finally said, lacking his normal thunderstorm tones. He sounded distant, as a thunderstorm would after it had rained much of itself out.

"That's not like you," Chromia murmured, canting her head gently. Most times, Ironhide knew when she was coming into a room before she was even in the doorway.

Deep set optics glanced up, smouldering like blue fires. "It has been a very hard few days for me." He finished gathering the small pieces he'd dropped, cupping them in his broad palm. With an expansive groan, he straightened in his seat and carefully began reorganizing his worktable.

"Hard for you? As if it hasn't been for me?" huffed Chromia, pursing her mouthplates.

Ironhide shuttered his optics, heaving a heavy sigh. "No, I didn't mean it that way. Of course it's been hard on you as well." He scrubbed his faceplate with his large palm, leaving black grease streaks across the grey and black metal. "I meant…"

"I know what you meant," Chromia said quietly. She was just irritable, almost subconsciously seeking a fight with whomever she spoke to for some release from the building tension. It took conscious effort to remind herself that she did not want to fight with her mate.

With a shake of his head, Ironhide returned his attention to his worktable. Its entire surface was littered with the remnants of several days' worth of work, all of which Ironhide had been doing non-stop. He'd invested all of his focus into his work so that he did not have to think of anything else. Prototypes for new weapons were either half-built or half-destroyed. Tools were scattered here and there. Several of them were bent and twisted- abused in fits of intense frustration.

Chromia surveyed the damages with a heavy spark. For every tool abused, it was a moment that her sparkmate had refused to seek her out. The damned stubborn fool that he was.

"I wish you would talk to me," she sighed, leaving her spot in the doorway in order to sidle up to her mate's side. She felt his tension and distress. He had so few outlets for his frustrations, and he did not often share his troubles with others. When he was stressed, he tended to try and block it from her. Even in their last orns before he left on the Allspark mission, he'd tried to block her out to spare her from dealing with his own miseries. Thankfully, Chromia knew her sparkmate too well for something so stupid to work completely.

Ironhide grunted quietly. "I wouldn't know what to say."

Standing close to her mate, Chromia marvelled at the size of him. He was not the largest mech she had ever come across, but he still dwarfed her in mass. He was like a small mountain, or a planet whose spark drew her in the closer she got. The gravity between sparkmates worked both ways, however, since Ironhide eagerly leaned into Chromia's welcome presence when she got close enough.

"Say anything to me," she murmured into his audio. "Anything at all, even swear if you feel like it."

He snorted at that. He'd called out enough swear words in the privacy of his warehouse that he had no swear words left. Instead, he chose to wallow in the warmth and strength that his mate radiated.

"Say that you're worried, or say that you're upset. Pit, Ironhide, you're allowed to say you're scared. It's just me here, and I won't say a word to anyone," Chromia said, wrapping her arms around her mate as far as they would go. She held him tight, soaking him in and returning as much of the comfort as she could.

"I am not scared," Ironhide insisted. A lie, if there ever was one. No one thought that someone like Ironhide could be scared of anything because he was such a gun turret on legs, like nothing could pierce his armour. Most bots forgot about how vulnerable his spark was. He could be scared, usually when those he cared about were hurting.

A gentle touch came to the side of Ironhide's head, long blue fingers stroking the prominent armour there. Gentle little fingers pried between slates of armour and caressed along exposed neural wires. He leaned into the touch, moving his head against his mate's hand.

"I know you too well, dearspark," Chromia said lowly, rubbing the side of her faceplate to the side of Ironhide's. "I know what your fear feels like."

A deep rumbling noise like thunder vibrated from deep within Ironhide's chassis, vibrating through his whole frame. It was either growl or a purr, but it was obvious he would not admit to his fear.

"Fine, I'll be the bigger bot here and say that _I'm_ scared," Chromia admitted, her arms tightening a fraction. The words were enough to give Ironhide pause. His spark turned over in his chest, and then his spark immediately reached out for Chromia. He offered unconditional comfort that made Chromia shudder, her vents whispering like a muffled sob. The hand stroking Ironhide's head grasped one of his crests tightly, as if she were afraid to let it go.

"You should have…"

"Said something?" Chromia intoned wryly, smiling against the black metal of the side of her mate's head.

Ironhide nodded.

"I'm saying something now," she laughed quietly. "I'm scared for Bumblebee, for Sam, for everyone right now. Things are happening that we have no control of. Our guns are no use against creatures like the Fallen, Nemesis… Unicron. We can't protect anyone like we normally do, and that scares the spark out of me."

With a long, growling sigh, Ironhide turned into Chromia's embrace. His thick arms came around her, lifting her as if she weighed nothing at all. He pushed his seat away from his worktable and angled her onto his lap, folding her within his dark, warm embrace. He bent his crested head to hers and let it rest atop her beautiful head, breathing out a long jet of warm air to seep through her frame.

"It scares me as well," Ironhide finally admitted, hating that Chromia had to be the first to say anything. Then again, she always was the smarter half out of the two of them.

"I knew it," Chromia remarked smartly.

Ironhide tightened his hold on her.

They rested together in silence, glad for each others company. Being so close, their sparks only separated by their armour, it felt like they could sink into each other... except that Ironhide felt a little more distant than he normally would. Chromia prodded at her mate with an ephemeral poke to the spark, to which he reluctantly opened up the bond that he had attempted to close off. A very subtle energy pulsed between them as they took further comfort in their proximity both physically and ephemerally. Thin ribbons of blue energy passed between them, slow and languid. The sensation was coolly calming and warmly electric at the same time. Not sparked in passion, but in intimacy and comfort. They were unworried over the possibility of being interrupted. Chromia had had the insight of locking the door behind her when she had entered.

Several weeks had passed since the incident with Bumblebee and Sam out on the tarmac. There were more than a few bots severely shaken up by the episode, many slow to recover from the shock. Worry and unease lingered in the air. Bots snapped at the littlest of provocations. More than a few squabbles had broken out. Many of the humans familiar with the moods of the Autobots had picked up on the unease, which in turn made many of the organics antsy. The humans who were close to Bumblebee and Sam, the ones privy to the truth of the incident and the many dangers it presented, had turned wary and irritable, much like their robotic counterparts.

Sam and Bumblebee, understandably, were taking the circumstances the hardest. Bumblebee rarely left the subterranean levels of base. He was edgy and easily upset whenever someone tried to talk to him. His relationship was Arcee was tense; he could barely touch her without being reminded of the horrible things the Fallen had shown him. Elita had tried on several occasions to talk to him, but most of the time he cried when he saw her, and the rest of the time, she had been unable to overcome her claustrophobia to go underground. Sam, on the other hand, was a bottled-up storm cloud. He contained his agitation as best he could behind a façade of his usual crooked smiles and witty jokes, even if his attempts fooled no one. He did _not_ take lightly to Prowl and Jazz taking over Bumblebee's duties. Cases of him accidentally frying electronic equipment happened nearly daily now, and with each incident, he became increasingly upset.

Finally, the silence stretched out too long. It was Ironhide's turn to say something.

"I wish there was something more we could do," he murmured, gently rubbing his chin to Chromia's head.

"I wish that, too," sighed Chromia. Her sharp fingers played along the seams of his armour absently.

"We have lived so long, yet none of our memories do us any good, do they? Is there nothing we've lived through that compares to this?" Ironhide wondered, a tad helplessly. As a Guardian to the cities of Cybertron, and as the Prime Protectorate to Optimus, he had seen many things in his long life- pirates, petty thieves, gang wars, organized cults. He'd seen the aftermath of some of the darker cults- frightening rituals and live sacrifices. There were a lot of things he'd witnessed that were impossible to explain, albeit that didn't help him now when everything that happened around him was impossible to explain.

"I never did believe in any of that Primus/Unicron story slag," Chromia huffed with a bitter laugh. "I thought it was just that, _stories_. I used to laugh at bots who believed. I thought they were weak because they needed to believe in something bigger than themselves rather than rely on their own abilities."

"I believed once," Ironhide admitted quietly. "I stopped believing when it went out of fashion." He'd been relieved to let go of the old stories, much like many other bots. It had made them feel like they were moving into a brighter, stronger future where science and technology would rightfully explain the universe.

"A lot of good that does us now," the femme sighed. "We're stuck in the middle of a war with monsters that aren't even supposed to exist."

Dark optics shuttered for a long breem. "Have you spoken with Jazz of the matter? He's lived almost as long as we have. There's a chance he might remember something we don't…?"

Chromia's optics dimmed as she shook her head. "I've spoken with him several times, but he doesn't remember anything. He never believed in any of that myth slag either, and most of his past he says is a blur anyways. Even if he's lying and does remember something important, I doubt he would keep it from us for such a long time."

Ironhide heaved a reluctant sigh, his arms tightening around his mate.

"I've also spoken with the twins more times than I can count," Chromia said. "I keep thinking that they might know something, even if they don't even know they know it. Everyone's been at them the same way, and I think the stress of not being able to do something is getting to them."

"How so?" Ironhide rumbled. He wasn't curious of the matter, but he sensed his mate's need to express what she'd bottled up.

"When you see them, they're like tension wires about to snap." Chromia made a snapping gesture with her hands. "Sunstreaker is the worst. When you look at him, it's almost like when he first joined the Autobots. Do you remember that? When you could barely look him in the optic without having him attack someone? I actually feel bad for him. He even snapped at Elita One the other day."

Both of Ironhide's optic ridges rose. The twins, especially Sunstreaker, had always been particularly attentive of Elita One in ways that they had never been to Optimus Prime. Even when they were at their most feral, Elita One had had a gift for getting them to come to heel. For Sunstreaker to snap at the femme only showed how dire current circumstances were.

"Is Elita One all right?" Ironhide wondered.

"She's fine. A little verbal lashing won't bowel her over," Chromia assured. "I think Sunstreaker upset himself more than he did Elita One. No one has seen him since he snapped at her."

Ironhide nodded solemnly.

"But enough about that," said the femme. "Just hold me for now, will you?" She snaked her arms around her mate one more time, bringing him into her embrace. Ironhide, in turn, brought Chromia closer to himself. A hug was something he could hardly deny. His massive size nearly enveloped all of her in a cocoon of warm, black armour. Their magnetic fields caressed against each other with minds of their own, fitting together as two puzzle pieces would. Electric blue light continued to play between their armour. They could never take being together for granted again, not after they had faced the nightmare of an eternity parted.

Ironhide stared down at the bundle of blue armour he held in his arms, marvelling at both her inherent strength and the vulnerability she exuded now. He held her tight and wished that these were times when he could bring out his cannons and blast through whatever obstacle was in their way. And if he could not shoot through it, he wished that Chromia could take out her daggers and fight her way out like the many times she had down in the past, the pure embodiment of ferocity and determination. Even now, he thought her stronger than him in the ways that mattered, because she had been able to come to him and speak first- something that Ironhide had no talent for whatsoever.

"I wish you could tell me that things are going to be all right, but I don't want you to lie to me," Chromia murmured quietly.

Ironhide nodded, remaining silent.

They spent much of the remainder of the day in each other's company, comforted in turns by what was said and what went unsaid.

* * *

"Are you likely to stay there long? I find it extremely disconcerting to have you sitting there, watching me work."

Sunstreaker turned his head in another direction so that he was not watching the small green femme as she flitted back and forth between various work stations.

"That is not what I meant," Virus pointed out flatly.

"I'm not leaving," Sunstreaker replied.

"You are sulking, and it is annoying," Virus said, glaring up at her company. "Where is Sideswipe? If I have to, I will call him here to take you away."

Ice blue optics snapped around, focusing and narrowing on the small bot. "Don't you dare."

"I would dare to do that and much worse if you do not stop your ridiculous sulking," Virus snapped.

"I'm not leaving and I'm not sulking," Sunstreaker growled, though the latter of his exclamations was very much a lie. He was sulking. He was also embarrassed that he was sulking, and humiliated that the only place he could find to permit such sulking was in the presence of Virus in her private labs. Granted, the atmosphere of the labs themselves gave way for a perfect place to brood or sulk. It was a simple place situated in a dugout cave in the side of a natural rock formation beyond the rifts surrounding the nearby base. She worked here when she came to the desert with the twins and required privacy away from Ratchet's too-watchful optics. The Autobots knew of the lair, but rarely ventured out to it since they preferred to stay away from the number of atrocities that Virus delighted in designing. To Sunstreaker's knowledge, no human knew of the makeshift labs, which was for the best when sealed canisters lined shelves in refrigerated compartments boasting of labels such as Anthrax, Rabies, and Human Immunodeficiency Virus.

"Sunstreaker, you are being entirely unreasonable," Virus argued. "Have you suddenly switched minds with your brother?"

"That's insulting," Sunstreaker huffed.

"I find it fitting," came the dark reply.

"Whatever." Sunstreaker snorted, shifting around in an attempt to find a comfortable spot on the uneven ground. He did not fit very well in the cave, seeing as the place had been excavated with only Virus in mind. The only reason he fit was because the explosives the little freak used had been a tad more powerful than she'd calculated, blasting a hole larger than what was necessary.

Virus considered her company with one last lingering stare before she sighed and returned to her original work. She was by nature of her creation a medic, but she found her calling more strongly suited to viral warfare. Her stay on Earth had acquainted her with a new host of biological pathogens which both delighted and fascinated her, wishing to replicate some of their manners of infection into Cybertronian viruses. From one of the refrigerated compartments, she withdrew a container marked Herpes Simplex Virus 2.

Sunstreaker stared at the selected container for longer than what was necessary, disturbed by the fact that Virus was in possession of a virus that caused genital herpes in humans. He knew that he would regret asking about it, but nevertheless found himself asking, "Where the pit do you get some of this stuff?"

Virus paused in her careful examination of a culture of the virus she was breeding. She shrugged. "There are many ways to gain samples."

"Most of those ways are illegal, aren't they?"

"Of course," Virus replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"I'm going to regret asking this, but what do you plan on doing with all of this?" Sunstreaker asked reluctantly.

Virus scrutinized her company, deciding what manner of lie or truth she should mete out. In the end, she decided truth. "Mostly, I am studying the pathogens to see if I can apply them to Cybertronian viruses. Maybe if I find the right one, I'll be able to find the key to taking down the energy leeches. They were once Cybertronian, after all. Perhaps our viruses will still affect them."

"Ah," Sunstreaker breathed quietly. He didn't know what else to say- he wasn't an expert in viral warfare, and most of the stuff gave him the creeps anyways.

"It's why I study the energy leech Perceptor and Ratchet keep. Maybe one of these orns I'll figure something out." She shrugged gently. "It's unfortunate that they never let me take samples of the leech. Without that, I can't test my pathogens." She snorted indelicately, her dislike of the Autobot medic and scientist obvious. Her dislike of _ethics_ in general was a given. "I just wish my old frame hadn't been destroyed, since that mutated leprosy virus I lifted from Arcee was still on it. It would have been so useful."

"Don't let Arcee hear you saying that, Moonfly," Sunstreaker warned.

Red optics rolled. "It hardly matters." She flicked a hand in the air. "Whatever else I happen to find with my research, I generally sell it to the highest bidder." Mutated rabies viruses that turned infected victims into violent, raging lunatics, or incurable strains of influenza that killed with horrendous pain; there was a surprising amount of humans around the world who were willing to buy such things.

"Black market?"

"Usually." She had to make a living somehow, and it wasn't like any of the biological slag she developed affected her species anyways. If it affected humans... well, that really wasn't her concern. "I suggest you stop asking me about it before you incriminate yourself somehow."

Sunstreaker wisely stopped asking questions.

Virus attempted to return to her work, but once again Sunstreaker's overwhelming presence diverted her. He was too… distracting. He'd always been a very distracting mech for as long as she had known him, but now the effect seemed even more potent. She supposed that thinking him dead for long added a modicum of surprise and fascination every time he caught her optic. He was too golden, too symmetrical, and entirely too beautiful to be sitting in the corner of her lab. When he spoke, she could not help but notice his voice; it was different from the voice she knew in Kaon, yet it was warm and deep and smooth like a long draught of rich high-grade. His optics made her spark beat unusually whenever they followed her. The conditions were absolutely _intolerable_ to work in!

Not that Sunstreaker faired any better. He was bombarded with nothing but memories as he sat and watched Virus work. There had been many times in Kaon when he had sat in the med bay and brooded for long joors while Moonfly worked. He would think of the various ways he could kill his opponents in a visually stunning way that would leave the innards intact enough for Moonfly to harvest. She sometimes smiled when she knew he'd been thoughtful like that. Sunstreaker remembered when he lived for a smile like that, because they made him feel like even monsters could be loved. In the present, he was left confused and disturbed, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Plus, he was drained. Not sleeping in several orns had put his energy reserves on empty, so the end result of his confusion was irritation.

When the tension became too much for either bot to handle, Virus set down one of her glass slides with a definitive click and tipped her gaze upward.

"Your mood is more than just what happened between you and Elita One, isn't it?" she asked bluntly.

Sunstreaker's gaze darkened. "How did you hear about that?"

"Autobots gossip far too much," Virus replied matter-of-factly. "Also, Bluestreak does not know when to keep his mouthplates shut."

She had had the unfortunate luck of being in Nebula II for some energon when the sniper had been present, slightly over-energized as he rambled on to a barely listening Firestar. He had let it slip that he'd been present when Elita One had made the suggestion that Sunstreaker might take a better look at his memories in case there was something there that might help them. It was not an uncalled for suggestion. Truly, it was a reasonable one which had been delivered politely while they were walking together. Elita One had simply had the bad luck of being the bot who pushed Sunstreaker a step too far.

Sunstreaker frowned as he recalled the words that had tumbled out of him. Every word had been said in frustration, as sharp as the blade of a sword as he'd directed them to Elita. He'd spat that his memories were worth slag. He and Sideswipe were just freaks, not good for anything. Worst of all, he had expressed his helplessness over the fact that he was doing everything he could to help the Autobots and it still was not enough. The moment the words had been said, he regretted them and wished that he could take them back. Since take-backs weren't possible, here he was in Virus's company.

"You're stressed over other matters as well, aren't you?" Virus prompted. "I know you are, so don't bother denying it. You're still bothered with the Fallen targeting Bumblebee, and the fact that you can do nothing to help anyone."

Sunstreaker looked away, saying nothing.

The green femme sighed, forsaking her work all together. She skittered across the dirt floor until she stood next to one of Sunstreaker's long legs. Immediately, she started scanning him, as if the problem could be found medically. The results showed a lack of recharge, but nothing more severe than that. Physical stress was easy to spot. Mental stress or stress to the spark was a little more difficult.

"The more you push yourself like this, the less help you'll be to anyone. Soon enough, you'll be useless," Virus pointed out, to which she received a long, low growl. Sometimes it was like trying to talk to a cornered animal… and sometimes that animal had rabies. Since Virus liked rabies, she wasn't afraid. "If you will not do me the kindness of leaving, will you at least take my advice to rest? Do it before you irritate me to the point that I put you in stasis."

"Rest?" Weary optics narrowed into two chips of ice.

"Yes, the act of taking a break, stepping away from stressful matters-."

"I know what a break is," Sunstreaker growled.

An arched optic ridge was his reply.

"I don't need one," the golden mech intoned mulishly.

"I think otherwise," Virus insisted. "It is obvious that you are upset, stressed, and tired. A little recharge will be able to clear your mind. Perhaps when you wake up, you will be able to face Elita One?"

Sunstreaker stared at the green femme for a few astroseconds, too aware that this was just a ploy to get him to do something that would not annoy her. In the end, though, he found the idea of resting to be an attractive one. He did wish to apologize to Elita One for his less-than-stellar exchange with her. At the moment, he simply didn't have the peace or energy to face her. After his mind was clear and his energy reserves were full, he'd probably have the spark to do it.

"Fine," he sighed, already shifting to lie down. Under normal circumstances, he would be damned if someone were to make him lie down in the dirt. Scratchy, sandy dirt that could rub the gloss right off him. Primus forbid it take his golden paint off him. With his only company being Virus, he found that he did not mind. If she found him lacking in any way, she would not hesitate to tell him so, and then insist on fixing it. As he lay prostrate, he tracked Virus's movements as she wandered around his frame, coming to kneel next to his head.

"You're not going to try to harvest my parts while I recharge, are you?" he asked warily.

"Not today," she replied, reaching out to feel along the side of his head. From her hands came very gentle swells of magnetic touch. It was a soothing feeling, turning Suntreaker's thoughts fuzzy, his frame warming despite the cool dirt he laid on.

"Are you going to infect me with viruses?"

"None that I can think of." She found what she was looking, a panel to gain access into his head. Sunstreaker was too stubborn and too riled up to be able to recharge on his own. He did not need to say anything for her to know that she would have to engage the subroutines for him. This was a task she was all too willing to do for him.

"Will there be drug testing involved?" he asked, deciding to cover all the bases.

"I only do that with the symbiotes," Virus replied. "You are safe from me." Out of the corner of his optic, Sunstreaker caught a very brief glance of a ghost smile on her faceplate. From her wrist came a secondary interface cable, which she used to connect to his mind. It was a very quick matter to engage the required subroutine. "There, you will feel much better once you've had time to recharge and gather your thoughts."

Sunstreaker felt the effects immediately- the beginning of a peaceful, warm slide into recharge. He was grateful for the kindness, and found himself extremely appreciative that Virus had not left for Carnéval when she could have. He raised a hand, brushing it down her slim frame without thinking of how entirely intimate the gesture might be.

"Thank you," he murmured, letting recharge take him.

Virus lingered in the warmth Sunstreaker's palm before she cleared her vents quietly and returned to her work. The next time she was distracted by Sunstreaker's quiet presence, she found that she did not mind him there at all.

* * *

Click. Snap. Hiss.

The head of the narrow white cylinder burned red, the paper glowing and curling as it charred to ash. Pungent smoke filled the air, both sweet and disgusting at the same time. A pair of thin lips wrapped around the non-burning end, dragging in the smoke as if it were some fortifying magic potion. The sickly air was held tight for a moment, then released in a rush from his mouth and nose, obscuring his face for a moment. His dark eyes were black in the night, lines of stress branching out from the corners. Deep grooves bracketed his mouth, which was turned down in an absent scowl.

"I thought you didn't smoke anymore," Elita said quietly, peering down at her company.

Simmons peered up at the beautiful alien. "Only when I'm stressed." He lifted the cigarette to his lips again, took a slow drag, then let it out like a sigh. Smoking was a habit that he'd started when he'd first got into Sector Seven as a green-eared teenager. He'd needed something to deal with the stress of the job. There were plenty of times he'd tried to quit (smoking, not the job), yet the habit always came back one way or another. As a compromise with himself, he only smoked when he thought it was the end of the world. He figured if he was going to die anyways, having a smoke wouldn't kill him.

"Ah," said the transformer, nodding her understanding.

There was grotesque beauty in something so simple as a cigarette. They were full of so many poisons, yet contained so much solace for the smoker. There were very few recreational drugs available to Cybertronians for occasions that would call for that kind of escape. Energizer was one illicit substance, but it was nearly non-existent on Earth. Ratchet had synthesized a number of sedatives, but it was doubtful anyone would try to steal them for their own private use. Unless a bot was desperate enough to go to the Decepticon-Neutrals of Carnéval for something illicit, most Cybertronians on Earth were bound to find less potent methods for dealing with the hand fate dealt them. Karaoke night down in Nebula II was fast becoming the number one way for dealing with stress.

"You know it's bad for you, yes?" Elita needlessly intoned.

"But it hurts so good," Simmons replied, letting smoke billow from him in one smooth cloud.

"You like it, then?"

Simmons shrugged. "I don't really like smoking anymore, no, but there's nothing better to do. It helps." On any other occasion, he might have driven himself down to a hot spot in Tranquillity, a place called _Paradise Found,_ to pick himself up a woman for mindless sex to take his mind off things, but he doubted he could even get it up if he found a woman. Too many thoughts running through his mind. Smoking was easier.

"I understand."

Elita held out her fingers to him, seeking something. Simmons stared for a moment, knowing what she wanted but stunned that she would seek it. She'd never bothered before. In the end, he couldn't say no to her, so he offered his cigarette to her. She held it delicately between the tips of her pointed fingers, careful not to crush the shrinking roll of tobacco and paper. It was almost too small for her to handle. First she sniffed it, wrinkling her olfactory sensor at the scent. It was neither a pleasant nor unpleasant smell to her. It was merely different- pungent and smokey. Her sensors could discern every chemical being burned away, from the poisonous to the benign. She placed the cigarette near her mouthplates and dragged in air, sucking in the pungent fumes. The cigarette burned bright for a moment like a tiny beacon in the night, then burned to ash between her fingertips. From the vents in her neck and sides, thin billows of smoke passed out.

"Feel better?" Simmons asked with a wry smirk. He couldn't decide if that had been the strangest thing he had ever seen, or if it had been the most fascinating.

"I suppose they don't have the same effect on my species," she said quietly, maybe disappointed? She shook out her hand to let the ashes fall away.

"No, I don't suppose they would," Simmons said with a shrug, digging into his pocket and withdrawing his half-empty pack of mangled cigarettes. He selected the least crumpled and held it between his fingers with expert grace, using his other hand to handle his lighter. Click. Snap. Hiss. He sucked on the end, only to breathe out smoke the colour of bleached bones.

Elita smiled softly, tinged with a bit of sadness like it always was. She glanced back to where the lonely form of a dirt bike sat silver-black in the moonlight. Her gaze then returned to her company, who was dressed informally in a pair of jeans, a dark t-shirt, and a heavy jacket. She was one of the few who ever got to see Simmons out of his ubiquitous suit. There were few Cybertronians and humans who comprehended her friendship with Reginald Simmons. They were not completely against it, simply baffled that two such incompatible creatures could find anything in common. In truth, it was the isolation of their lives that offered them understanding of each other, faint solace like one would find in the smoke of a cigarette.

Simmons stretched his back, cracking his neck. He checked for scorpions and other creepy crawlies before he settled back against the rock he was using as a seat. Elita One took up much of his periphery. Even to a human, she was uncommonly beautiful, though it was a lonely kind of beauty that made her seem untouchable. It always looked like she wasn't quite there… like there was something about her that wasn't quite of this world. Simmons took a drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke away from the alien out of politeness, though a gentle breeze came and swirled the white mist around her anyways, making her seem even more ethereal. Sometimes he fancied that he was in love with the femme, but mostly Simmons was glad for a friend who he could sit with and talk to on reasonable terms.

"So, Simmons, what brings you out here tonight with your cigarettes?" Elita wondered, bringing out her tablet from subspace. It was horribly abused tablet, well past its expiry date. Sideswipe had found it hidden in one of the vents of the _Loki_, his ship, and given it to Sunstreaker, who gave it to Elita so that she would always have something to create art with. The screen was cracked in the corner and its casing was loose, but it was beautiful to her. She clicked it on and waited for Simmons' reply.

The reply did not come right away. It was brooded over darkly, self-medicated by the deep burn of poisoned smoke. He held his breath, then let it out slowly. Finally, Simmons looked up with an expression of frustration and anger.

"There was another assault on an extraterrestrial today," he said, his voice gritty. "It was just a kid this time."

Elita gasped softly, feeling her spark turn over in her chassis.

Without prompting, Simmons went on. He needed to get it off his chest, and Elita was the perfect one to talk to. "It was Teeki- you know, the Uma kid that lives on base. Liah Mophat's son." His cigarette burned too low between his fingers, searing the skin. He cursed softly, dropping the dead ember to the ground and smothering it in a fistful of dirt. "Fuck, I can barely make it through a month without hearing about some pack of goddamned humans assaulting an alien. If no one's throwing glass bottles or rocks at you guys when you're driving down the street, then they're beating on the organic aliens that don't have the armour to take it. Teeki is just a kid, you know? _A cub._ Just a damned ten-year-old Uma cub and now he's in the hospital."

Elita closed her optics for a moment, sighing sadly. The Umas were one of the various alien species that took refuge on Earth. They were humanoid, though differed from humans with their soft cotton-candy pink skin, wiry hair that stood up straight like a troll doll's, and long tails. Liah and Teeki Mophat were two Umas who had emigrated from Copenhagen, Denmark. Liah now worked as the dietician on base while Teeki attended school with Annabelle. Elita knew Teeki better than she did his mother, mostly because she knew Annabelle well and the little human liked to drag Teeki everywhere she went every chance she got. He was a sweet boy, but very quiet since he couldn't speak English very well.

Simmons lit another cigarette, but this time he gained no solace from it. It only tasted bitter to him. Out of frustration, he threw it as hard as he could. It didn't go far, landing in the sand and continuing to smoke there tauntingly. He scrubbed both hands over his face.

"Two months ago, I was visiting a family of Nebulons in the hospital because they'd been in a hit-and-run accident." He made a bitter sound. "Hit-and-run my ass. They were hit because they had green skin. A family can't even take a drive around town without some asshole taking an issue with it. Now a ten-year-old boy can't play in a playground without a bunch of kids ganging up on him because he has a tail. What's wrong with the fucking world?"

A brief, hollow silence followed the acidic tirade. A coyote bayed mournfully at the moon. An insect skittered in the dirt. Simmons' thrown away cigarette finally burned to ash.

"I don't think your species is ready to share their planet," Elita intoned softly, almost apologetically. It was her species' fault for all the turmoil regarding human-extraterrestrial tensions. If it wasn't for them, humans never would have found out that aliens existed.

"I don't think my species will ever be ready," Simmons spat bitterly. "We're just a bunch of ignorant pricks. Doesn't matter how much _Star Trek_ or _Star Wars _you watch, there's something about the real thing that fucks a human up in the head. I've got the records to prove it, too." He made a harsh gesture in the air. "I've seen records that go back all the way to SkyWatch days documenting what big pricks the whole human race is to any poor alien bastard that lands here. God, I hate my species."

Elita looked away, unable to say anything. The anger and self-hatred that radiated from the human nearly burned her. For as many years as she had known him, Simmons had always expressed to her a love-hate relationship with his species. He could never hate the human race completely since he was human himself and had dedicated his whole life to serving and protecting them, but there were days when he found it incredibly hard to love them when they did things that threw everything he did in his face.

In hopes of finding a less corrosive topic, she asked, "How is Teeki doing?"

It took a moment for Simmons to formulate an answer. He breathed out a long, harsh breath. "He's in the med bay his mom right now. He's got some bruised ribs and a broken tail, but he's lucky. It could have been worse." He looked away, scratching at the corner of his eye. "He owes a lot to Annabelle, actually."

"Oh?"

The sides of Simmons' mouth turned up slightly as he turned back to the femme. "The way I heard it, Annabelle took one look at the kids beating up Teeki and she ran right into the fight. She broke one of her fingers punching a kid in the nose."

"I didn't think she had it in her," Elita said, not knowing what else to say to such news. Younglings on Cybertron had almost _never_ shown violence in the Youth Sectors. It was still shocking to a number of Cybertronians how much violence a human child could exhibit.

"I don't think anyone else thought so either. Who would have thought little Annie could dish it out?" Simmons replied quietly. Instead of shock, there was a mild pride about him. Then he caught on to Elita's unease. "She's a good kid, Elita. She knows right from wrong. That's good for an eight-year-old to know that, you know? Some kids these days don't ever figure it out. She was fighting to protect someone."

Elita nodded, her fingers flexing on the edges of her tablet, which sat nearly forgotten in her hands. "Where would she have learned to fight in the first place? She's such a sweet little girl."

Dark eyes glanced up for a moment, then away. "I'm guessing she picked that up from watching some of you guys spar, since Will swears he never taught her. I've seen Sideswipe and some of the others out in the dirt wrestling." Another brief quirk came to the sides of the human's mouth. "There's so many of you who have a soft spot for that little girl. You guys like showing off in front of her."

Elita offered a crooked smile. It was too true that the Autobots enjoyed having someone small and innocent to dote on- it gave them a purpose that made them feel like they were worth something again. Sometimes the smile of a youngling was a better tool for healing than all the medics in the world. To Simmons, she said, "I have a feeling there are more than a few bots willing to show Annabelle how to defend herself. All she'd have to do was ask." She had a feeling that all Annabelle would have to do was look up at Ironhide with her big blue eyes and he'd be willing to build her a miniature arsenal if that's what she wanted.

"It's just sad that kids have to be taught to defend themselves in the first place," Simmons sighed. "There are so many things wrong with a little girl having to fight off a gang of kids so her friend doesn't end up dead. Kids should be safe no matter what- no matter who they are, where they come from, what species they are. They should be _safe,_ even from each other."

Reminded of why he was out in the middle of the desert at night, Simmons drew out his pack of cigarettes again and hoped this time the burn of the smoke would be more than the burn in his heart. "I don't mind it if some Autobot teaches Annabelle how to throw a punch properly, but I hate the fact that she has to _use_ that kind of knowledge. It's not right." He sighed in disgust. "It's when shit like this happens that makes me think my job is completely pointless."

"It's not pointless-." Elita injected automatically.

"It _is_ pointless," Simmons insisted, cutting her off. "Maybe the whole EDC is pointless. We can't even keep the aliens on this planet safe, let alone protecting the planet from outside threats. What's the point of doing my job if I can't help anyone?"

Elita laid a finger to Simmons' back, stroking gently. "You have been making a difference, Reginald. The EDC has been making a difference with its education and outreach programs. When people like Teeki do get hurt, you're there to help them. That's what counts."

"I also hurt them," he mumbled shamefully, thinking of what he had done to Bumblebee so many years ago. "Doesn't matter what I do, _that_ still counts too."

"We all make mistakes. You know better now. One of these days, Earth will know better too."

Simmons hunched forward, leaning his elbows on his raised knees. "Yeah, but will they figure it out in time?" He cast his eyes to the sky briefly. "Any moment now, energy leeches and kremzeeks could come out of the sky. The Fallen could fuck one of you guys up like he did Bumblebee, causing all kinds of damage. Unicron could eat the whole goddamn planet for breakfast if he wanted to! No matter what way we look, we're _screwed_."

A rush of air blew from Elita's vents, her frame deflating sadly. "You shouldn't give up, Simmons. Things may seem hopeless, but if we give up, we'll never know if we could make it better."

Smoke like ghosts swirled in the air, bleached white in the moonlight. Simmons' dark, wet eyes watched her carefully, the stars reflected in their depths if Elita looked deeply enough.

"You're right, I guess," he rasped. He took two more drags of his cigarette, then finally seemed to tire of it. The burning tip was smeared into the dirt. There was a brief hiss, then nothing at all. "We've all come this far, right? There's no point in giving up now. There's always a chance that something crazy might happen and we actually make it through this insanity." His laugh was a bitter sound, revealing how much he did not believe his own words.

Elita nodded, her gaze slipping to her lap. She was surprised to see her tablet there, having forgot about taking it out.

Simmons leaned back. "All right, enough about me and my shitty problems. You've been quiet for a few days, so what's up?"

"It's just been a hard few days for a lot of my kind," Elita said with a shake of her head. "Bots are getting stressed out and some of them are reaching their breaking points. Pretty much the same problems you face, I suppose… maybe a couple more extra problems, and maybe a couple less." Her fingers ran along the edges of her tablet absently. The tablet that had once belonged to Sunstreaker. That poor little dear.

Simmons nodded. Yeah, he could totally understand that. The Cybertronians had their own crazy shit to deal with. It made him feel a bit like a dick complaining to Elita now, remembering all the stuff that she had gone through. Even though she always listened when he had something to say, it didn't seem right for everyone to come to her whenever they had problems when Elita herself had been through the worst things any living creature could go through.

Trying to be comforting, Simmons stretched out his hand and patted Elita's leg. He didn't have any words for her, so he stayed quiet and hoped she understood what he meant. To his relief, the femme did understand. She smiled that beautiful, sad smile of hers and wrapped her hands around him like a warm, metallic hug.

"You are a good friend, Simmons," she said, meaning every word.

"You're a better friend," Simmons intoned ruefully, because it was true. She was so much better than he'd ever be.

Their moment was broken by a mournful bleating in Simmons' back pocket, announcing the arrival of a text message. Without thinking, he dug around for the phone and flipped it open. A smirk lit his harsh features as he read what had been sent. "It's Liah. She says the kids that beat up Teeki are being charged with assault." He gave a brief laugh that sounded a little breathless. "Finally, my species does something right."

Elita smiled, one of her hands still lingering around Simmons. She gave him a celebratory squeeze-hug. "At least Teeki will have justice."

"Yeah." Movement caught Simmons eye and he looked up, realizing that they were not alone any longer. Two bots were approaching, one tall and golden and the other black and green like a skittering beetle. In the tall one's hands was a tiny, metallic rose-like sculpture- homemade by the looks of things. Simmons nudged Elita with his elbow, jerking his chin in the newcomers' direction. "Looks like your species is getting it right, too."

Elita did not look surprised by Sunstreaker's approach, as if someone had already told her he was coming. She smiled warmly and beckoned him forward. "Well, Simmons, I suppose things are not as bad as you seem to think they are."

Simmons popped to his feet, brushing his jeans off, preparing to leave in order to give Elita One some privacy with Sunstreaker. He considered the femme for a moment, then shrugged, a crooked smile playing around his mouth. "It's probably still the end of the world, but at least I don't need a smoke anymore. Thanks."


	18. To Love II

Another new chapter, everyone! This one is a little lighter than the last few, and quite a bit longer. ^_^; Some laughs, some hugs, a bit of hot, sexy lovin'. You know, the usual stuff that brings smiles to faces. Hope you all enjoy! ^_^

**CNightJoy**- Oh yes, my dear. I do believe that being in the most shitty life-threatening position would be a little stressful to the Cybertronians. =P But never fear, a break in the wall of stress is coming. You get to see a bit of what happens with Sunny and Elita in this chapter, so I hope that appeases you. ^_^ Thank you very much for reviewing~!

**Flameshield**- You're in luck, my dear. If you want to see how Prowl is handling matters, this chapter holds that key. A hint, though- Jazz is helpful for stress relief. =P

**JenEvan**- Yeah, you're right, the last chapter was a bit depressing, wasn't it? I tried to have each section have a tiny bit of a comfort by the end of them, but the mounting stress for everyone was something I couldn't ignore. . As sad and horrible as the topic of hate crimes are, I felt like I had to add it into the story. In my opinion, I don't think Earth is ready for aliens, and some humans are liable to react badly. Thank you for understanding its portrayal in this chapter, no matter how heartbreaking such a thing is.

**Standout4Christ**- Haha, I've never heard Elita be compared to a mom, but the comparison is so fitting. =P She's a strong character, a survivor. She might not ever be the same again, but like you said, she's determined to find happiness again. =) Thank you for reviewing. ^_^

**Midnight Marquis**- Well, all the same but a little different, I suppose. Everyone's case is unique, after all. But you're in luck- the reprieve that has fallen does last a little longer. ^_^

**renegadewriter8**- Well, my friend, even if I don't have a Sam/Jazz/Prowl scene, will come Jazz and Prowl complaining about Sam do? The human is being rather difficult for them. And you're right, Jazz doesn't appreciate Sam being a little brat. XD Thank you so much for reviewing.

**Kai-Chan94**- Haha, my dear, I do believe that you are one of the few to ever admit to liking Simmons- his character as a whole or a specific portrayal of him. XD But, you are right. He may be a jer, but he's a jerk who is just trying to do his job. ^_^; Sunstreaker, admittedly, has to be one of the most interesting characters I write for, and it's wonderful to hear that you enjoy his portrayal. He makes a small appearance in this chapter with Elita One. =P

**femme4jack**- You are full of the most lovely flattery, you know that, my friend? =P From the beginning, this story has always been more about the characters and how they deal with situations, rather than writing about the situations themselves and the characters acting them out (if that makes sense... ^_^; ) Character development is one my my specialities, and I am glad that it is a quality that has drawn you in. If you are eager to see a bit of how Prowl and Jazz are dealing with Sam, there's a bit of that in this chapter. As for _Surface of the Sun_, I'm... working on it. ^_^; Thank you so much for reviewing. =)

**Juzu**- I'm glad you enjoyed Simmons and Elita's interactions. They are certainly a unique pair. =P Thank you for reviewing. ^_^

**Phoebe Turner**- Thank you so much~!

**Frenzy5150**- 'Devilishly addictive story', my friend? Why, I do believe I am intensely flattered! XD Truly, I'm honoured that you have enjoyed this series thus far and have thought of it as 'unique' and 'refreshing'. I hope that you continue to enjoy the series as much as you have. ^_^

**1bloodtempest**- Oh, my dear, if I could roll around in your review like a happy pig in mud, I would. =D There is just so much to marvel about, and so little room to gush over your insightful observations. If you're wondering where the O13 are, they're still trapped on Cybertron... ^_^; Every time I read that you think of Virus talking like Marie-Lune, I start giggling. XD To tell you the truth, Virus's Earth lingual files are default set to French instead of English because she listens to a lot of biomedical lectures on human pathogens from universities in France that are posted on the internet. When she does speak in English, the accent sort of remains. XD As for Simmons, I could smother you in hugs for liking his portrayal here, but since we're different countries... cyber-hugs! *hugs* I secretly like his character, too... but strangely enough, I only like him when he's being a helpful snarky jackass. XD Oh! And as for that last question, no Virus doesn't have an alt mode. The old frame she's in was a medical drone meant to stay in one room and do nothing but fix things, so there was no point in giving her an alt mode, even after she was given a spark. ^_^; My dear, you have my love for all the effort and enthusiasm you put into reviewing~!

Read, Review, and Enjoy~!

**May We Never Let Go  
To ****Love II**

Wheeljack sorted through the large crate of supplies that had just arrived, squinting at the small printed label on each container he lifted out. "You know, Ratch', I don't get it. They can send us all these convenient containers that are our size, but they can't print labels for them big enough for us to read easily?"

"Quirk of humanity," Ratchet grunted.

"You got that right," Wheeljack chuckled.

"I heard that," Felicity drawled, pushing her wild reddish greying hair out of her tired face. She gave both Autobots a pointed look from her spot on the counter where Ratchet had placed her.

The two Autobots cast a sheepish look to each other. They had not forgotten that Felicity was with them, they had simply forgotten that she was human. She worked with them so often that sometimes it was hard to remember that she was different from them.

"Didn't mean nothing by it, Felicity," Wheeljack said.

"I know," replied the doctor, offering a wry smile. "For what it's worth, I know my species has plenty of quirks."

Wheeljack chuckled and Ratchet rolled his optics.

"Do you need me to read the call number on that thing?" asked the human doctor, gesturing to the container Wheeljack had been complaining about.

"Ah, well, I think this one is big enough for me to read..." said the engineer. "If you could match up the call number on the invoice and let me know what it is, that would be a big help."

She offered a bare smile. "It's what I'm here for."

Wheeljack held up the container to squint at it, the diodes in his optics whirring and readjusting. His crystalline fins flashed as he rhymed off the series of numbers printed on the side.

Felicity zipped through the invoice she held in her hands- the small, human-sized invoice because printing something big enough for a mech to handle would waste a lot of paper. Of course, the company could have _e-mailed_ the invoice so that bots like Ratchet and Wheeljack didn't have to rely on someone smaller to handle the paperwork, but the companies that worked with them claimed that some of the stuff they were delivering was highly sensitive and they didn't want to compromise its confidentiality in an e-mail. The human wrinkled her nose and requested Wheeljack list off the call number again. She scanned through several lists, but found nothing.

"I think some of the pages are missing," she sighed.

"It's fine," Wheeljack replied with a sigh. "I'll pop the lid and scan the stuff- won't find out what it's called, but at least I'll know the basics of what it is." He did just that, wedging his thumb beneath the ledge of the top and flicking it off. One brief scan passed over the medium sized container. Once done, he cast a look at Ratchet. "I'm pretty sure this is yours, Ratchet. I don't remember ordering something like this, and Perceptor don't work with materials as much as we do."

"Set it over on that shelf, then," Ratchet said, gesturing to one of the many free-standing shelves lined up in rows in the storage room they were in. The specific shelf the medic waved at had a little room reserved on the third shelf up. "If it's silicone-based, put it on the right. If it's carbon-based, put it on the left. I'll sort them out properly later."

"Got'cha," Wheeljack said, sauntering over. The shelf was helpfully divided down the middle with a piece of red duct tape. The container had a silicone-based gel in it, so he set it on the right side.

Felicity yawned.

Ratchet noticed and arched an optic at the human. "It's late. You should go."

"And who would read the invoices and labels for you?" the good doctor replied with a tired smile. If there was one thing that Earth doctors and Cybertronian medics had in common, it was not knowing where their limits were. Felicity was all too willing to live in the med bay so long as she was helping someone. Ratchet admired that about her.

"We'd handle things," Wheeljack assured, squinting at another container.

"Oh yes, I can only imagine how well that will work out," laughed the doctor. She could see the both of them fumbling until dawn with the little sheets of paper, trying to match up call numbers, and cursing humanity.

The storage room doors hissed open, admitting two diminutive Autobots who must have caught the tail end of the exchange. Perceptor assessed the crowd and then directed his stare toward the only human in the room.

"I believe Tungsten and I will be adequate for the task, Dr Spring," intoned the scientist. "We're about the right size to handle the invoices without ruining them."

"You can go home and sleep, Doctor Felicity. You look very tired. I'll drive you home, if you want," Tungsten squeaked happily. Not that the little silver bot had an alt mode big enough to drive the human home, unless he used his hoverboard form. He did happen to have his driver's license, though. He was rather proud of having his license.

"Don't worry about it, Tungsten. I can find my own way home," the human assured warmly. "If you two are sure you want to take over for me...?"

"Perfectly sure," Perceptor said.

"All right, then I'll just be on my way, I guess," Felicity sighed.

"Have a good night!" Tungsten squeaked cheerfully. He then held up a handful of crumpled papers. "Oh! Is anyone missing papers? 'Cause I also found these on the floor in the hall."

"Our missing invoices," Ratchet drawled wryly.

Wheeljack leaned back against a counter and laughed. "An' the humans said sending them by paper would be safer."

"Hush, you," Felicity scolded playfully even as she collected her things from the small spot she had set up on the countertop. "Not even your kind is safe from making silly mistakes once in a while."

"Some of us are more prone to it than others," Ratchet intoned dryly, his gaze landing on Wheeljack pointedly. It took a moment for Wheeljack to cotton on, but when he did he laughed regardless if it was at his expense. Ratchet rolled his optics and helped the human doctor down, exchanging a few words with her before seeing her out the doors and making sure she was on her way to the human side of the med bay.

Perceptor and Tungsten promptly took over handling the papers, reviewing the data on both the sheets Tungsten had found on the floor and the ones Felicity had been working with. Wheeljack gave one last huffing laugh before he returned to eagerly sorting through the delivery crate, happy to discover each new item, and then briefly irritated each time he couldn't read the call numbers. He relied on calling out to Tungsten to match the numbers to a product name. Ratchet, instead of returning to his own large crate of deliveries, lingered to regard Perceptor.

"So," the medic intoned. "You were down to see Gloom today?"

Gloom, the name for the energy leech that had once been Nightbeat. The word 'Gloom' seemed to be the only word that the leech could say, which in itself was unique, since no other leech had ever shown any lingual ability beyond their horrible moaning.

The little copper scientist canted his head, his large, domed optics blinking. "Oh, yes, I was. The leech becomes more and more anxious with every orn that passes. I can't understand what is making him this way when nothing in the environment has changed."

"That is worrisome," Ratchet sighed.

"Yes, it is," Perceptor agreed. "If he becomes any worse, he may end up draining the whole energy circuit in his cell and escaping."

His escape wouldn't be the worse thing to happen, given that the cell he was being held in was underground with little risk of him reaching the surface. It would simply be a hassle for Autobots to go down into an enclosed space with the leech and try to herd him back into his cell without hurting the leech or ending up drained themselves. Gloom had only gotten lose once before, early on in his stay in the Autobot's care. Once had been enough. For all the efforts that it took to get the leech safely contained, Sideswipe's right arm had been drained of energy so badly that it had to be removed and replaced. Again.

"We'll just have to adjust the circuits and and reroute the power in a way that will make it more difficult for him to absorb the energy," Ratchet said. He then nodded to the crate of supplies that he was dealing with. "If all goes well with this new shipment, we might finally be able to come up with an insulator we can coat him with to prevent his draining abilities."

"If we could apply it to us to prevent us from being drained on the battlefield, that'd be real helpful," Wheeljack intoned.

"Don't think we haven't been trying to figure something out for that, too. It's harder than it looks," Ratchet said, then returned his gaze to Perceptor. "Is Punch down there with him?"

Perceptor shot the medic an inherently miffed look. "Yes, he is. Nothing I say gets rid of him."

Ratchet shook his head sadly.

"That explains where he's been all orn," Wheeljack drawled, his back still to them as he clicked and scuffled through items of all sizes, sorting them into an indiscernible pattern. "I saw Mirage earlier and he mentioned that he was looking for Punch. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he had a thing for Punch."

"Unlikely," Perceptor snorted. "He's probably trying to convince Punch to come back to Intelligence & Espionage. Jazz obviously misused the mech in Special Ops."

"If Mirage wanted Punch to work for him, he'd have to fix him first," Ratchet sighed. "I doubt he'd make much progress if we haven't been able to get through to him yet."

"What about reprogramming him?" Tungsten offered, his big blue optics wide. "Didn't we used to reprogram everyone before we came to Earth?" He still possessed all of his memory files from being a drone, so he recalled many, _many_ instances of being with Wheeljack while he was reprogrammed through the worst of the war.

Wheeljack made a low rumbling noise. "We don't do that anymore, Tungy. You know that."

"Even though it offered faster results," Perceptor sniffed airily. "Whatever the case, if Mirage can manage to drag Punch out of there, I would be forever grateful."

Ratchet shook his head, understanding Perceptor's annoyance. The microbot didn't mean any harm by it, but he had a habit of focusing on the science and forgetting about the spark in everyone. Ratchet, on the other hand, was far more concerned with Punch's wellbeing than the inconvenience the bot made of himself when he hung out in the subterranean brig.

"If you're that troubled by it, I'll go see if I can roust him out of there while you take over with the inventory of the new stuff," offered the medic.

"Sounds reasonable enough," Perceptor conceded. "I will warn you, though- he's started reading books to the leech. Today it was the complete works of Edgar Allan Poe. Yesterday it was Stephen King. Tomorrow I'm quite sure it will be H. P. Lovecraft."

"Oh, the horror," Wheeljack drawled teasingly.

Ratchet laughed quietly as he made his way to the door, confident that Wheeljack, Perceptor, and Tungsten would be able to handle things. He moved out into the long hall and made his way into the main med bay area, going for the side doors that were build large enough for transformers to use. They hissed open upon his approach, sweeping in a chilly night breeze that smelled of metal and dirt. Coming out into the alley made by the med bay and the next building over, Ratchet didn't even need to adjust his optics to the lower lighting. The stars were so bright and the sky so clear, even a human wouldn't have had trouble seeing.

Making his way out onto the wide street, it became apparent that the pleasant clear night had brought out all sorts of Autobots from underground. The majority of them were not even in alt mode. They were happily strolling around the streets, some of them standing taller than the surrounding buildings, others with paint so bright that they couldn't be missed with the starlight glinting off them. One or two were leaned up against the walls of the buildings, chatting with humans who were hanging out windows located at an appropriate height to have a conversation. The tension that had strung everyone tight for several orns appeared to have been broken by some unseen force. That was good news to Ratchet, who had been popping out dents and threatening assault with a deadly wrench to the bots who slunk into the med bay looking for repairs after they had gotten into a stress-induced scuffle with each other.

One pleasant surprise came just as the medic was turning a corner. Sunstreaker had come out of hiding, looking better than he had in a long time. His expression was something of a rarity, no longer the severe scowl or icy countenance he usually wore, but instead a soft smile that made his handsome features even more striking. Elita One walked at his side, her arm threaded through his. She wasn't that much shorter than the golden mech, so she was able to lean her head to his shoulder. In one hand, she held a delicate metal sculpture made to look like a flower. They chatted quietly until Elita realized Ratchet was near. She stopped, drawing Sunstreaker to a stop as well. Ratchet found it funny that Sunstreaker looked a little flustered to be caught walking with the Prime's mate. He hadn't thought the golden mech capable of being flustered any more, but it seemed tonight was full of surprises.

"It's good to see the both of you looking so well," Ratchet commented, inclining his head in a very small but polite bow to Elita.

"A little bit of rest and time to collect your thoughts does wonders," Elita replied with a smile, and for once she didn't look sad while smiling.

"Have you been out long?" Ratchet enquired.

"No, not at all. Sunny found me only a few breems ago and walked me back to base. He's been keeping me company." She smiled again as she patted the golden warrior's arm.

"It was... the least I could do," Sunstreaker said lowly.

The femme looked Ratchet up and down for a moment, as if assessing him. "You're going down below, aren't you?" she enquired in that strangely knowing way of hers.

"Yes, I am," Ratchet replied. "Perceptor mentioned that Punch was down with Gloom again and I offered to get Punch out of there."

"You shouldn't have too much trouble tonight," Elita said lightly.

Before he could enquire what she meant, she smiled once more and tugged Sunstreaker so that they could continue their peaceful walk. Ratchet watched them go with a mix of curiosity and delight. They made a lovely pair in the moonlight, golden paint next to a delightful rose hue. Sideswipe bounded around the corner ahead of them, spotted his brother and the Prime's mate, and grinned so wide Ratchet feared his faceplate might seize that way. It was almost like watching a scene from the past when he had known the twins as younglings. Sideswipe sidled up and ducked a cheeky bow to Elita, and then pushed a tiny cube into her hands. It was high-grade that he had turned pink somehow, glowing softly as the same colour as Elita's paint. Then he said something that made all of them laugh before someone, it sounded like Knock Out, called for the red mech and he was away again. Sunstreaker ducked his head to Elita's audio, said something, and then gestured in a certain direction. Elita nodded and off they went.

Ratchet shook his head, an unbidden smile curving his mouthplates.

Turning in the direction of the nearby lift that would take him below ground, the medic made his way peacefully to his destination. The lifts themselves were unusual features on base, though not necessarily incongruous with the rest of the landscape. For the most part, they appeared as three-sided rectangular structures with one open side made of a metal cage, looking almost like an elevator in a building... except the lift was not attached to any building. The Autobots did their best to keep the lifts tucked behind buildings and made them look as inconspicuous as possible. However, there was one lift on the west side of base that kept getting a little too much attention, given that Wheeljack had constructed it to look like the TARDIS from Doctor Who. It even had sound-effects.

Beginning to shuffle the cage door closed on the lift, Ratchet paused as he heard his designation called out. Looking up, he caught sight of a pair of familiar bots approaching.

"Got enough room for two more?" Jazz asked as he and Prowl jogged up. The saboteur's visor no longer glowed without optics behind it to light the crystal, but he was handsome nonetheless. The starlight appeared to make him particularly handsome, setting his silver paint to sparkle like diamonds. Prowl, who was only a step behind the silver bot, was not entirely as handsome. His features were plain, but the way he carried himself was striking. The contrast of his bold black and white paint never ceased to catch an optic or two.

"Shouldn't you be watching Sam?" Ratchet said, arching an optic ridge.

"It's night, he's a sleep. He's as safe as he's ever been in his own apartment," Jazz said, sliding into the small space of the lift cage. Prowl stepped in behind him, leaving very little room for the three of them to move.

"Even Bumblebee was not with Sam at all times," Prowl reasoned as he slid the cage grate closed and sidled around so he could be at the back of the lift, Jazz's back to his front.

"I suppose you're right," Ratchet conceded. "Are you on your way to the barracks for some recharge?"

"Wash racks first before we hit the barracks," Jazz intoned, smirking. "Don't know how much recharge we'll get before we gotta get back ta Sam, though." Nudged Prowl discreetly, the tactician reacting with a barely discernible rev of his engine. His doorwings fluttered for a moment, but the movement was restricted in the small space. Yeah, they definitely had no intention of recharging at all.

While it was pleasant to know that the tension between the two mechs had since dissipated, Ratchet was still inclined to staunchly ignore the subtly amorous attentions they were paying to each other. He pressed the right button for Jazz and Prowl's level, and then pressed the button for his own stop. The special brig level they'd dug out for the leeches was a few levels below their underground city. The cage lurched on its stressed pulleys, groaning pathetically as the chains gave slack and lowered them into the depths of the earth. Natural light disappeared, surrounding them with earthy darkness as they passed through the long, vertical shaft cut into the ground.

"How has your guardianship of Sam been suiting you?" Ratchet asked above the rattle of their descent, both curious of the matter and looking to make polite small talk.

"The kid is driving meh nuts," Jazz grunted.

"He does not like us at all," Prowl intoned. "I believe he thinks we are cutting in on Bumblebee's territory. If he's not being hostile toward us, he's avoiding us."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ratchet replied.

"So am Ah," Jazz snorted. "Ah liked him better as a kid with a pair of old glasses running for his life. Even with all the screaming, he wasn't as moody."

"I hope you didn't tell him that," Ratchet chuckled.

"Ah'm tempted," Jazz laughed wickedly. "Mostly, Ah kinda wish _someone_ didn't volunteer us for this. We could be doing something a lot more important with our time." He shot Prowl a pointed look.

"Protecting Sam _is_ important," Prowl said without missing a beat.

"Yeah, just not fulfilling," Jazz sighed. "One bot could have done it. Some bot other than meh or you."

"Seeing as the Allspark is rather important to our existence and the danger to Sam has increased, it makes sense to assign the most capable bots to his protection," Prowl reasoned... and it definitely sounded like he'd been forced to say the same thing over and over the past couple of orns. Even with all the practice, it still sounded like a pathetic lie.

Jazz wished he still had optics so that he could roll them.

"At least you are able to have quality time together while you guard Sam," Ratchet offered.

"One of the few perks," Jazz shrugged.

Prowl suddenly jumped as if startled by something. Ratchet immediately scanned the area, discovering the lingering remnant of a magnetic pulse in the air... centering around Jazz's hands and Prowl's leg. The tactician's internal temperature had risen by several degrees, even as he reached for Jazz, slipping the tips of his fingers under the armour of Jazz's back and returned the magnetic burst. Jazz revved in return, leaning back to let his weight rest against his lover. Yet again, Ratchet valiantly ignored their behaviour. As amusing as it was to see Prowl and Jazz flirting back and forth with each other, he would really rather not think too much about it.

Much to Ratchet's relief, their first stop came up quick. The lift shuddered to a halt, jolting once as the pulleys locked.

"Our stop," Prowl announced needlessly, reaching around Jazz to slide open the cage doors and herd the silver bot out.

Not wishing to keep them any longer than he had to, Ratchet merely inclined his head to the pair as a goodbye. Prowl saw and returned it. Jazz did not see, but even if he had he probably wouldn't have returned it. He was already sauntering in the direction of the wash racks, looking quite determined to get there. Prowl swung around and growled when he noticed how far his lover had wandered off, immediately tracking after him. Ratchet rolled his optics and hoped to erase any thought from his mind that had to do with those two and how they planned to abuse their room and possibly their wash rack privileges.

Ratchet rubbed the ridge between his optics. No, he certainly did not need that imagery in his head. He respected those two bots too much to think about what kinds of amorous mischief they could get into.

Thankfully, as he drew farther into the earth, his attention shifted elsewhere. Another grinding halt brought him to the specialized level containing their one and only leech, formerly the Autobot Nightbeat, now calling itself Gloom. The level was an extremely small one, consisting on only one open space containing a power console to control the distribution of energy on the level and a narrow corridor that separated four modified containment units. The lights were always dim here, not by design but because the nature of the energy leech could drain even light from a source. The atmosphere was cold, as well. An uncomfortable, unnatural cold that seeped past armour and wires and delved in deep to places where even Cybertronians could freeze.

The moment the lift stopped rattling, he heard voices-

"_...And neither the angels in heaven above,  
Nor the demons down under the sea,  
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul  
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee..." _

Ratchet took a moment to search the verse, identifying it as part of the poem Annabel Lee by Edgar Allen Poe. He recognized the voice speaking as that of Punch. He did not easily spot the mech, but noticed that the cell across from Gloom's was open. Careful not to interrupt such a sad but enchanting recitation of Annabel Lee, Ratchet made his way to the open cell and peered in. Punch sat huddled against the far wall, a data pad in hand while he read. He still retained his blindingly bright yellow-orange paint, but the appearance was bruised with blacks, blues, and purples from a malfunction in his chameleon programming, blending together his Punch and Counterpunch appearances. Sitting to his left was a small, half-empty cube of energon laced with cyanide, which was Punch's preferred choice of drink nowadays. He consumed so much cyanide that it now permeated through his frame, making him stink of bitter almonds and rendering him poisonous to humans.

Surprisingly, Mirage had found Punch and now sat beside him the small, cramped cell.

Directly across from them, it was hard to tell what Gloom was doing. The creature was wrapped up in shadow, as usual. It blended in well with the dreary decor of the cell, hunched in the corner in a shadow, its rotting grey-black metal the exact same shade of darkness. Its black, unseeing optics stared unblinkingly into empty space. It might have been staring in Punch's direction... or maybe not. For the moment, the leech did not look as anxious as Perceptor had let on.

The poem finished, and Gloom moaned one long, low noise that sent shivers down Ratchet's back.

"That was very nice, Punch," Mirage intoned quietly.

"Thank you," Punch replied. "Counterpunch chose it..." Then he made a small noise. "I mean... I chose it. _I_ did."

Mirage reached over and patted Punch on the knee. "It's okay. It was lovely nonetheless." The Master Spy looked up and caught Ratchet's stare. He did not appear surprised to see the medic there. Most likely, he had known of Ratchet's presence the moment the medic touched down on the level. For once, the look on the spy's faceplate was not icy. It was soft and kind, if not a little sad. "Didn't you think it was lovely, Ratchet?" he asked.

"Yes, of course," Ratchet replied.

Gloom suddenly moaned again, louder this time and more agonized.

"He likes it when I read to him," Punch said quietly. "He's quieter when I do. I think it makes him forget everything else."

Ratchet arched an optic ridge, curious of what the mech could mean. As far as he and the others could surmise, Gloom had very little awareness of himself. If he had memories or clear, lucid thought processes, there was very little evidence of it. Briefly, Ratchet wondered if there was something about the relationship Punch had had with Nightbeat that connected the living mech to the dead one in the cell. They had been partners for a long time, and Primus knew that Nightbeat had been an odd enough mech to have forged some sort of strange connection with someone that went beyond the norm.

"Punch," Mirage said softly, his hand still on the bot's knee. "I think it's time you get out of this place for a little while. Come with me to Nebula II for some energon. I think you need a little break from reading."

"Counterpunch wants to stay down here. He still wants to read-." He shook his head, making a noise to voice his frustration. "No, I want to go. I think I do need a break."

Ratchet felt his spark twinge every time Punch had to remind himself of who he was. When Jazz had first put the Counterpunch programming inside Punch's head, no one had known how badly it would get out of hand. There might have been a chance to fix the bot a few years ago... until the moment Mirage had shot Doubledealer in the head in front of Punch to save Punch's life. Since then, the mental fissure between himself and Counterpunch had only driven deeper.

Mirage wrapped his hands around Punch's elbow gently, guiding the other mech to his feet. "All right, come on. Some walking and fresh air would do you some good."

Gloom was suddenly on his feet, pacing the confines of his cell. He seemed clumsier than usual, bumping the walls and force field. Immediately, the temperature of the whole level plummeted and the lights dimmed to the point of complete darkness. Even the light from the living Autobots' optics barely cut through the gloom. The death rattle of the leech's moan filled every dark corner.

Ratchet regarded Gloom shrewdly, concluding that what the leech was displaying now must have been what Perceptor had been noting earlier. Such behaviour certainly would drain all the power on the level if Gloom kept it up for extended periods of time. It left him wondering what would excite the leech to such a degree. Certainly nothing in the cell or surrounding area was aggravating him. And why, exactly, would reading to the leech have any effect on it?

"It's okay, Gloom. It's okay," Punch said lightly, making his way to Gloom's cell. He leaned close, but didn't dare touch the force field. Nothing he said had any affect on the leech. He looked over his shoulder at Ratchet and Mirage, looking upset. "Maybe I shouldn't go... He's afraid to be by himself. I think he's afraid the Fallen will come for him."

Mirage looked helplessly to Ratchet.

"I'll... stay. But only for a little bit," Ratchet sighed. He might as well fix up the energy circuits to make sure Gloom didn't get loose. He didn't want to stay long, even now feeling the energy of his spark being slowly drained in close proximity to the leech.

"Oh," Punch said, looking relieved. "Okay, that might work." He held out his data pad, the screen nearly black as Gloom sucked the energy out of it. "I meant to read it to him tomorrow, but you can begin it now. He really loves H. P. Lovecraft for some reason."

Ratchet glanced at the screen, noting the title _The Nyarlathotep Cycle_, before nodding to the bot.

Mirage slipped to Punch's side and slipped his arm around his shoulders. "Come on, we'll go get something to drink... preferably something without cyanide in it." More attentive than Ratchet had ever seen him, he guided Punch to the lift.

Despite the wretched moaning of the leech beside him, Ratchet spared a few moments to stare curiously after the pair. Perhaps Mirage having a fondness for anyone but himself was not as unlikely as Perceptor seemed to think. It was either that, or it was guilt that kept him so attentive. Whatever the reason, it was good for Punch to have someone to help him get out of his own head.

* * *

"Could you have been any more obvious?" Prowl let his hand trail up Jazz's back until his fingers could trace the outline of the silver bot's horns.

Jazz shivered as he felt the touch, liking every moment of it. "Ah probably could have tried a little harder ta be obvious, but ya know meh- Ah just love being subtle."

Prowl could not help but snort. "Oh, yes, you're such a subtle bot."

Jazz purred, leaning back so that he could rub his frame to Prowl's in one slow, cat-like caress. "Come on, ya tease, let's get ta the wash racks."

"Of course," Prowl hummed, his hand still trailing along Jazz's head. "We haven't been to the racks in several orns."

"Are ya saying that we're a dirty pair right now?" Jazz purred.

For a moment, Prowl looked a little perplexed... he was not always the quickest creature when it came to innuendos. His mind immediately went to assessing the accumulated filth on their frames, which was not a lot considering that they had not done very much in the last couple of orns, and then he realized what Jazz had meant. A slow, warm smile made its way across his faceplate and he delivered a magnetic pulse directly into one of Jazz's horns, letting it caress over his armour and through his neural circuitry. The silver mech shuddered, reaching back to grasp Prowl even as a heated groan left him. Prowl bent to his lover's audio and traced the handsome shape with his mouthplates. "Yes, I would say that we are currently a _very_ dirty pair."

"Ah take it we'll be in the wash racks a while, then?" Jazz wondered, knowing the answer.

"A very, _very_ long time," Prowl replied. He ran his hands down Jazz's frame, grasping him around the middle, dragging him back until their frames aligned with each other. "I will have to be very thorough to make sure you are clean."

"Ah'll have ta return the favour," Jazz said, scraping his claws along the inside of Prowl's armour. He could hear the low screech of the metal against his claws, feeling his lover gasp and press into him. It was one of the things he loved about Prowl- how responsive he could be when he invested himself in something. Sometimes it took a little bit of effort of break him out of his shell, but pit if Jazz didn't like the challenge. It certainly paid off in the end. Not that anyone but Jazz knew, but Prowl certainly had _stamina_ when he put his mind to it.

They made it to the wash racks in record time, nearly tripping over themselves in their haste. Neither seemed incline to disengage their hands from the other as they tried to walk, but both insisted on trying to be covert as they teased. It proved to be a most entertaining sideshow for the unfortunate Cybertronians caught wandering the streets of the underground city as the pair passed. Several laughing shouts followed them down the streets- most of them in Cybertronian, but a few shouted in Earth languages. Jazz merely laughed, tugging Prowl behind him.

When they finally stumbled through the doors to the wash racks, they were immediately assaulted by a cloud of humid steam that immediately condensed against their armour. Their feet clicked against silicone tiles, while above their heads frosted glass of multiple colours domed over their heads. The lighting was anything but dim- indeed, it was cheerfully bright, giving the impression of being above ground in the middle of day rather than below it at night. Lingering steam gave the place a dreamlike quality. The building itself was made of a single open room, circular in nature, but divided by privacy walls so that those entering and leaving did not interrupt those who were enjoying the showers.

"Someone's here already," Prowl observed with a frown. The wash racks were a communal facility for all Cybertronians, so there was no reason for someone not to be there. He should have factored that in before stumbling into the place instead of letting his mind be so thoroughly distracted.

Jazz tipped his olfactory sensor into the air, taking a deep drag of the coconut and vanilla scented steam. "Ah know that soap- it's Firestar's."

Right on cue, a keening cry rose above the pleasant patter of water falling from active spigots. Shuffling feet, scraping metal. Frames shuddering, a low moan that sounded suspiciously like Inferno, followed by a higher pitched cry by Red Alert. Firestar laughed, then moaned a musical note.

"Yeah, definitely Firestar's," Jazz chuckled.

"Should we come back later?" Prowl wondered.

"Where's the fun in that?" Jazz replied, his mouthplates curling up impishly. He was gone in a flash of silver, dancing around the dividing wall. Prowl was helpless but to follow... if only to make sure Jazz stayed out of trouble. Around the corner, the tactician stumbled to a stunned halt, his optic ridges shooting up so high that they might have flown from his forehead.

"Oh... wow."

Inferno was against the wall, hot water sluicing down his large frame. Red Alert was backed into his front, pinned there by heavy arms wrapped around him and one writhing femme curling into his front. Firestar had her legs hooked around Red Alert's narrow waist, her fingers dug into his shoulders with her head thrown back, mouthplates open with another keening cry of pleasure. All three of their interface panels were open, with Inferno and Red Alert directly plugged into Firestar, who hosted more than one port. All three of them tensed as Firestar's peak hit the other two, throwing them into a loop of overloading. By the end, Inferno sank to the ground and gathered his two lovers close, purring as Firestar and Red Alert curled into him.

"Ah'd ask if Ah could join in, but it sounds like ya all are done," Jazz drawled, a Cheshire grin stretching his faceplate.

Firestar blinked, her head shooting up. Her optics sparkled bright. "Jazzy! You know you're always welcome to join in! There's room enough for more." She patted her interface panel, where two extra ports were open. She had one of those special designs that allowed more for the merrier.

Prowl took hold of Jazz before he could volunteer them for something he did not want to be a part of. He drew the silver mech back against his frame, holding him there while he met Firestar's impish stare. "No, Firestar, I do not think we will be joining you. You look busy enough as it is."

Inferno and Red Alert started picking themselves up, looking thoroughly embarrassed to have gotten caught. It wasn't their first time to be walked in on, but the experience never got any less humiliating.

Firestar bounced to her feet, steam swirling around her. She was too beautiful for her own good and never seemed ashamed with anything she ever did. "You know how it is, right? The stress finally got to us and, well, I just had to do something to fix it. Old pleasure bot programming, you know?"

Yeah, it was always the old pleasure bot programming.

Granted, Prowl and Jazz were looking for a little stress-relief, and they didn't have the excuse of pleasure bot programming.

"We were just leaving," Red Alert murmured, desperately tugging on Firestar's hand. "Come on, dearspark. I'm sure Prowl and Jazz would like to..." He paused to register how intimately Prowl was holding Jazz against him, whether he did it consciously or not. "Um... I'm sure they want to be alone."

Firestar sighed emphatically. "Fine, fine." She let herself be guided away by her two lovers, though paused long enough to offer Jazz and Prowl a cheeky wink. "The water's nice and warm for you, and my soap's there if you want to use it."

"We're _leaving_, Firestar," Inferno drawled, picking the femme up and carrying her out to ensure she left the two commanders to their business. The door snapped shut behind them with a definitive click.

"So..." Jazz intoned lightly, moving against Prowl in one sensuous line. "Did that look as hot as it sounded?"

Prowl growled deeply, a sound that vibrated through his frame and straight into Jazz's. His arms tightened around Jazz's lithe form, pressing them together intimately. "Not half so attractive as you are."

"_Flatterer,"_ Jazz laughed. "Ah do wish Ah had mah optics, though. Would have been real nice ta see a bit of the show."

"There isn't a need." In one quick movement, Prowl had the saboteur pinned to the nearest wall. He was quite intent on erasing any thought Jazz might have of missing his optics. He brought them chest-to-chest, as close as they could physically get without their sparks being merged. It was a little rough, but Prowl was well aware that Jazz could take it. "Never mind their improper use of public facilities. I believe we had some business to attend to, yes?"

"Ya mean _our_ improper use of public facilities?" Jazz purred, arching into the full length of Prowl's frame. Not that he was an easily distracted mech, but with Prowl's frame grinding into his, he had incentive to think of other things other than his lack of certain frame parts. He released a magnetic pulse that was sure to vibrate through the tactician's frame. Indeed, the moment it hit, the usual tension marking Prowl's frame seemed to drain out. He covered Jazz's front, sinking in so close that they might have been made from the same metal. They rocked together, letting their magnetic fields tickle, flare, and pleasure each other.

"It is only improper if someone discovers us," Prowl replied, groaning as Jazz's clever hands worked their way up his back, sharp claws playing with the connecting wires of his doorwings as if they were musical instruments. The result surge of sensation nearly took his legs out from underneath him. He heard the creak of his wings as they flapped, helpless under his lover's knowing ministrations.

"Half the fun is the risk of getting caught." Jazz let his faceplate fall into the hollow made by the meeting of Prowl's shoulder and neck. He nuzzled there, enjoying the heat radiating from his lover and the familiar crisp scent of the regular car wash soap and plain polish he insisted on using. Never liking to be the one pinned, he moved quick, spinning so that Prowl was at his mercy. Primus, there was something so arousing about knowing he could delve right in and wreck all that calm, cool control the tactician was so well known for. Jazz might not be able to see he, but he could hear it in the quickened cycling of air through Prowl's vents, feel it through the heat building in his frame. Jazz was practically _vibrating_ with the need to get into Prowl's head and go wild. Too many orns of dealing with an ornery human did that to him. He wanted something that was completely Cybertronian; completely and utterly _his._

Prowl, of course, was not one to simply allow things to happen to him. He rolled, once again enjoying the feel of sleek silver armour beneath him. The steamy atmosphere of the wash racks created the most interesting slick sensation between them as their armour rubbed together. Then he yelped when he felt his feet be swept out from underneath him. He suddenly found himself on the floor with a handsome silver devil standing over him.

With a flick of his wrist, Jazz switched the water on for the nearest spigot. A spray of water shot out, soaking them both and filling the room with the hypnotic sound of rain pattering against metal and tile.

"You are magnificent," Prowl breathed, watching as steam wreathed Jazz's frame, making him even more ethereal than usual.

Jazz dropped to his knees, straddling the tactician. He leaned down, their chests pressed tight, slates of armour sliding and locking together.

"Show meh," Jazz purred like a challenge.

"Show you...?"

That cheeky smile of his was full of mischief and arousal. "How magnificent ya think Ah am."

A sensual smile curled Prowl's mouthplates as he drew his hands up Jazz's sides, covetously memorizing every contour. "That I can do."

Jazz's claws scraped down Prowl's front, catching suggestively on his interface panel. "Ya do it well, if Ah recall correctly."

The interface panel clicked open, the single most sexy thing either of them had seen or heard all day. "Let me refresh your memory."

* * *

Bumblebee had seen a lot of bizarre, grotesque, horrific things in his life, but what he just walked in on in the wash racks was probably within his Top 5.

The writhing...

The moaning...

The _what the frag were they doing on the floor_...!

Sure, Cybertronians had a pretty open culture when it came to that sort of thing, but this was _Prowl_ and _Jazz_, for pit's sake! He looked up them! They took care of him from the time he was a sparkling! There were some things a bot could live his whole life without seeing. That was one of them. But now the image was there, and Bumblebee most likely would never be able to look either of them in the optic again. No, correction, he'd never be able to look in their direction or even _think_ of them without having the traumatizing image of them gasping, moaning, and arching into each other sear into his processor like a dose of acid.

And he had gone looking for them for such an innocent request, too! He wanted to visit Sam, but as per the new rules, he couldn't do it without asking permission of Sam's current guardians and ensuring that supervision was present during the visitation. Humiliating? Yes. Was Bumblebee lonely enough to concede to the new dictation? Double yes. Was he regretting his decision now, after witnessing what two healthy transformers in love did to public facilities that he used on a regular basis? Triple fragging yes.

Also, he hated Firestar for being so _helpful_ pointing him in the right direction. Now it made complete sense why Inferno and Red Alert were giving him looks of horror as he was walking away.

Why the pit did he have to go looking for them today, of all orns?

They'd been on the floor... Firestar's soap everywhere... their hands dug into armour... optics closed...

"Gross, oh so _gross_..." Bumblebee whined, wishing to claw the images from his mind.

"What's gross?"

With a squeal, Bumblebee stumbled to a halt and spun around. Standing in the shaded doorway of one of the few used buildings in the underground city was Optimus Prime. Bumblebee felt his spark skip, surprise fluttering through him. He noted that the building the Prime was exiting was actually Arcee's personally chosen building, which was nothing more than a place to store her accumulating collection of guns and knives. Right next to Optimus's side was Arcee herself, peering at him with curiously wide optics.

"Um... Ah..." Bumblebee stuttered, suddenly finding that he could not force his vocal processor to work properly. Honestly, what was he supposed to say? That he just walked in on two of Optimus Prime's most trusted warriors doing the nasty in the wash racks? Autobots already thought he was losing his mind, but admitting to something like that would probably put him on a one-way track to being locked away forever. At the very least, he'd be put back into therapy.

Optimus appeared to find the stuttering a cause for concern. He took a step closer, shadowed by Arcee. Bumblebee jumped back before they got too close. He wracked his processor for an excuse. Any excuse!

"It's nothing," he said quickly. "Nothing at all. I saw something on the internet that I really didn't want to see."

"Humans doing something bizarre to each other again?" Arcee said sympathetically, because yeah, every Cybertronian had made the mistake of downloading a video or two like that. The kind of video that could be deleted, but the horrific images would haunt them for the rest of their long lives. They understood that the act of sex was natural to humans for pleasure and procreation, but most of the videos on the internet were about as _unnatural _as you could possibly get.

"Yes, that," Bumblebee sighed, glad for a good excuse. No matter how freaked out he was over Prowl and Jazz, he still had too much respect for the two of them to say anything, especially in front of the Prime.

"Ouch."

Optimus, for the most part, appeared to believe the lie and was as sympathetic as any Cybertronian would be. He inclined his head and shifted his stance, looking very much like he had something more to stay but could not decide how to phrase the question.

"You know, Bumblebee," Arcee intoned, deciding that she would speak for the Prime to get things moving along. "Optimus just came by because he was looking for you. I said that I didn't know where you were, but I guess that doesn't matter any more since you're here now."

"You were looking for me?" Bumblebee wondered, blinking wide optics up at the Prime.

Optimus offered a tiny smile, barely a ghost upon his faceplate. "Yes, I was. You weren't in your quarters and I wasn't sure where else to look. I assumed that you would have been with Arcee, like you usually are," he said. It was no secret that Bumblebee liked Arcee. Liked her a lot. Most orns, when he wasn't on duty or with Sam, he was with Arcee. Lately, though... he just couldn't bring himself to be near her. He knew what the Fallen had shown him had been a lie, but still it frightened him.

"Why were you looking for me?" Bumblebee asked, a tad wary.

"I wished to speak with you," Optimus said simply.

Bumblebee nodded, running a hand over his head nervously. Under his fingers, he could almost feel the oily touch of the stain on his head. Since the orn the Fallen had gotten into his head, the stain had only spread faster. If he stared at it too long when looking at his own reflection, it only seemed to stare back angrily, writhing on his armour. It had spread from his forehead to his neck and over his shoulders, a crooked, twisting cloak of blackness. The stain was half the reason Bumblebee wanted to stay away from other Cybertronians. He felt dirty around them. In their optics, he imagined he could see their suspicion. Like now, Bumblebee could see something in Optimus's gaze that he could not name.

Disheartened by Bumblebee's lack of response, Optimus frowned and deflated. "If you don't feel up to it, we can talk later."

Now Bumblebee felt like a jerk. "It's okay, Optimus. We can talk now."

The Prime looked cheered by the invitation. "All right." He gestured to the street in the direction that Bumblebee had just come from. "Would you like to stop by the wash racks for a breem? We could talk there."

"No!"

Optimus blinked in surprise.

Bumblebee twittered nervously, realizing how panicked his sudden exclamation sounded. "Um... sorry. I just meant, _no_. I- uh... I heard that something wrong with the plumbing. Pressure sucks. Pumps spraying acid when you want a base, spraying a base when you want an acid. Cold water hot and hot water cold. Not pleasant at all."

Nope, not pleasant _at all_.

"Wheeljack will have to take a look at that later," Optimus murmured. "Since the racks are out of order, how does going topside sound? The Solarium?"

"Much better than underground," Bumblebee agreed eagerly. He looked to Arcee, wondering if she was going to come with them or stay.

She offered a kind smile. "You two go on. I'll, you know, stick around here and polish my blades or something." She pointed her finger directly at Bumblebee's chest. "But you have to come and see me soon for some kind of spark-to-spark or so help me, I'll hunt you down."

Bumblebee ducked his head. "Sure. I'll find you. Don't worry." He never should have tried to avoid her in the first place.

She nodded, confident she had his promise, and waltzed back into her building.

Optimus started walking, letting Bumblebee fall into step with him. "How are you?" he asked carefully, perfectly aware of how inadequate such a question was when everything was in such a mess.

Bumblebee looked away. "I'm fine, I guess." Self-consciously, he ran his hand over his head again.

"Are you really?" Optimus pressed.

"...no, not really," Bumblebee admitted.

"Is there anything I can help with?" the Prime asked carefully.

"I doubt it," Bumblebee snorted, then cut a hard look to the side, at the Prime. "Why would you care anyways? It's not like you've been putting an effort in to talk to me before. Ever since it came out that I'm not _normal_, it's like you've been avoiding me." The words were harsher than he had meant, but repressed emotion sharpened the edge.

As expected, Optimus flinched. "That's what I want to talk to you about," he said lowly.

"Avoiding me?"

"About what you are," Optimus said quietly.

Bumblebee stopped for a moment, bristling. "Just like that? I wait vorns for answers and get nothing, and then all of a sudden, you're willing to talk to me about it?"

"Yes." Optimus sighed, not accustomed to this new Bumblebee. For several hundred vorns, he had known the little bot as always kind, patient, eager, and bright. For the last couple of years, Bumblebee had changed. Turned more distant, edgy. Within the last couple of orns, he hardly knew Bumblebee at all.

"Why now?" Bumblebee asked. "Why _now_, after all this time?" He'd waited a lifetime for answers, and he was only getting them now? It wasn't fair. He should have been told when he was old enough to understand. He should have been told when he asked questions about where he was from, who were his creators, why was he the only sparkling to be found in a wasteland when the Allspark had been sequestered for so long?

"Now is the first time that I have had the courage to face you about it," Optimus admitted heavily, as if the weight of the words weighed physically on his spark.

Bumblebee paused for a moment, struck by the words, but then decided to keep walking. Optimus kept pace. Absently, they both noted that they were moving toward the lift on the west side of base, the strange lift Wheeljack built.

Carefully, Bumblebee asked, "You couldn't face me before?"

"How could I? I did something that no other Cybertronian in our history has ever done. I created a spark without the use of the Allspark," Optimus said. "What are you supposed to say for something like that?"

"_Anything_ would have been nice," Bumblebee murmured.

They boarded the west side lift and pressed the button up, arriving topside amid a silly sound-effect that was completely out of place with the atmosphere brewing between Bumblebee and his... he wasn't sure what to call Optimus. They made it to the Solarium, which suddenly emptied of human life the moment the little organics saw how serious the two Autobots looked. They had the place to themselves, and even the normal buzz of the lights seemed to quiet for them.

Bumblebee walked around a willow tree planted in the middle of a dais, letting his fingers trail through the curtain of soft leaves. Inside, he felt lost, confused, and angry. His armour prickled and he knew the stain was writhing. It took several deep drags of air, but he calmed enough to stop the spread of the stain.

"Bumblebee..." Optimus sighed, gaining the scout's attention.

"Did you know how badly I've always wanted to know about myself?" Bumblebee asked helplessly.

"I can imagine," Prime said quietly.

"Can you really?" He tossed his arms out in a desperate gesture. "You could have told me anything, Optimus. I would have happily begged just to have a single word from you. I would have hung on to your every word!"

Optimus bowed his head.

Bumblebee shook his. "There were some orns I was so desperate to know who and what I was, I begged Jazz to hack my mind to see if there was something in there to tell me." He looked to the floor, dirt smearing the pretty mosaics. "He looked once, but never told me what he found."

Optimus went tense for a moment, then let it go. Jazz truly was the best secret keeper he had ever encountered. If the saboteur had somehow figured it out, if he had known what Bumblebee was all this time, and still said nothing about it... It was a testament to Jazz's abilities, but disturbing nonetheless.

"Bumblebee, I swear to you, I would have said something sooner. I _should_ have said something sooner. But I was afraid," Optimus admitted. "Do you understand? I was afraid. Terrified."

It was strange, but Bumblebee had rarely ever considered the notion of Optimus Prime being scared. He always seemed too great for that sort of thing. Now he supposed that was just another thing that made Optimus mortal like the rest of them. He feared things like mortals. He made mistakes like mortals, even the unforgivable kind.

"Now you don't really have a choice, do you? You _have_ to tell me," Bumblebee muttered, smacking the willow tree's leaves so hard that he ripped a few of them out. They tangled in his fingers like heartstrings.

"It wouldn't make sense to keep anything from you any longer," the Prime said solemnly.

"I've known for seven Earth years, but you said nothing then... nothing but the basics," Bumblebee sighed, the basics being that he was from the Allspark- no more, no less. "You could have come to me before I attacked Sam. Before the Fallen decided to mess with me. Before Nemesis said all those things to me... Do you know how hard it was for me to hear all those things from that... that _thing_, and not have a single word to say against it? It _hurt_, Optimus. It scared me. Even now, I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to be!"

"Who you are and where you are from are two very different things-" Optimus began.

"Yeah, but don't you think they're a little bit related? You have to know something about where you come from to understand all of who you are," Bumblebee shot back.

"Perhaps," Optimus conceded on a sigh. He leaned against one of the high daises overfull with plant life, the weight of the world dragging him down. "I know I should have come to you sooner. Elita even encouraged me to talk to you, but still... I didn't know what to say."

Bumblebee circled around the tree to stand in front of it, hands on hips, his frame tense. He wanted to know everything at once. "Start with the beginning. Why try to create me? What the pit were you thinking, making something like me?"

Optimus cast his optics around the Solarium warily, as if searching for the Fallen. He wished one of the twins was present to check if the demon was near. He supposed in the Fallen already knew what Bumblebee was, so there wasn't much harm in letting the rest of the truth out. Even if there wasn't much more truth that Optimus could offer. Even he did not know exactly where Bumblebee came from beyond being pulled through his own spark from another place. Slowly, almost as if in shame, Optimus dragged his optics back to his... creation.

"I _had_ to create you."

"_Why?_"

"At first, it was to create something to give bots hope." His voice dropped, turning gritty. "By that time in the war, Bumblebee, we had all lost a lot of things. Hope was all we had and we were running out."

"You made me just for that? Just so you could give the Autobots a morale booster!"

"At first... yes," Optimus sighed, scrubbing his hand over his faceplate. "I didn't even know if it was possible. I was an archivist before I was Prime, and the bot I worked with talked endlessly about the old stories." He smiled for Prima Bella, who was probably long dead by now. "I heard about sparks having some latent energy from the Allspark lingering in them. The possibility of sparks acting like substitute Allsparks... Since the Allspark was sequestered, I started thinking about those stories."

Bumblebee stood like a stone, but not the solid kind. He appeared hollowed out and crumbling.

Optimus could not meet the scout's broken stare. "I contacted Jetfire, who had worked extensively with the twins when they had first been created. He was an expert in unique spark conditions. It was a long time of him researching everything he could get his hands on. Vorns, really. I even showed him the Allspark a few times for him to inspect. In the end, he suggested that it might be possible."

"So not only was I a banner of hope, but I was just an experimental one?" Bumblebee asked hollowly.

"You were always more than that," Optimus whispered.

"How? I was just an idea."

"You became my _life_," said the Prime. "As soon as the idea was in my head, I couldn't let it go. I was possessed by it. Every thought was consumed by the idea. I had to see it done. I wanted hope for my people, but I also wanted a reason to live. If the Allspark was ever destroyed, I wanted to know that there was a reason afterwards to keep going. I wanted to know that life was possible."

There was a long silence. The Solarium's ever-present humidity stifled them, pressing closing like another coat of oppressive gloss. Even the trees seemed to be leaning into them, listening.

"Bumblebee, look at me," Optimus commanded softly.

Helpless to the order, Bumblebee met the Prime's unfathomable blue optics.

"More than anything, I knew I had to meet _you_."

Bumblebee made a choked noise, like a sob but more broken. "Me?"

"Even before I held the Matrix above my own spark, I knew I had to meet you." His hands rested over his chest, over his beating spark. "You were a part of my life before you even existed. Before I even knew you, you were everything I dreamed of."

Bumblebee found the floor easing up to catch him as his own knees lowered. The warm ground caught him, embracing him as he sat. He felt nothing but the welling, choking, relieving feeling of finally being given the whole story. Like his spark was swelling up too big for his sparkcase to contain.

Someone had wanted him.

Optimus continued speaking, tilting his head back, optics closed to grasp the memory. "It was touch and go, trying to use the Matrix and use my spark at the same time. It's almost like the Allspark, but not quite. It was painful..." He touched his chest for a moment before letting his hand drop. "I can't tell you where your spark was pulled from, but I can tell you that the moment I held your spark in my hands, I knew you were perfect. So _perfect_. But I also knew that you had to be protected. I would do anything to keep you safe. No one could ever know the truth, in case it got into the wrong hands."

"Like Shockwave," Bumblebee murmured.

"Yes, like him," Optimus breathed. "That's why you were put into Ironhide and Chromia's care. They had never had a sparkling before, but they were the strongest warriors I had, with sparks larger than they cared to admit. Ironhide especially had a soft spot. You were safer with them than you ever would have been with me. But I was selfish. I constantly had to see you, marvel in your existence. You weren't just a gift, or a means to bring hope. You were a miracle, Bumblebee. You _are_ a miracle." His optics blinked open, closed, open again. "Even if you hate me for it, I suppose it was fortunate that I never told anyone except Elita One about what you were. Even the team I brought with me to create you, they erased their memories and input new ones to protect you. If Shockwave had ever discovered where you came from, I'd never forgive myself. I'll never forgive him for what he did to Elita. I tried so hard to protect everyone..."

A noise of frustrated disgust came from the Prime.

"Even now, I do everything I can think of to protect you, but I still fail," Optimus harshly. "I never wanted the Fallen to have touched you or Elita or any one of my Autobots. Believe me when I saw I would have traded my own spark to keep you safe. Even if you hate me, I will still do anything to protect you."

"I don't hate you," the scout intoned, his voice cracking.

Optimus stared at him with a searching look.

"I could never hate you. I'm angry, and I'm scared, and I'm confused, but I could never hate you, Optimus." He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling his frame tremble with the force of the emotions rocking through him. "I always... loved you."

This time, it was the Prime who made a noise like a sob.

Bumblebee shuttered his optics tight, feeling so small. "I don't want what's happening to me. I wish the Fallen and Nemesis would leave me alone. All I've known is war and everything else scares me. Peace scares me. But I could never hate you for anything. I'm just glad now that I have some answers. I might not know the place where my spark was pulled from, but I'm happy I know your side of the story... finally."

Optimus's head bobbed almost imperceptibly.

Bumblebee pressed the side of his faceplate into the tops of his bent knees. "You want to know the funny part about this? Even when I didn't know what you did for me, I looked up to you. I thought you were the most amazing bot to ever exist. I still think that..." He laughed quietly- a soft, sad laugh. "All I've ever wanted was the truth, and maybe for you to look at me like I was yours. I just wanted you to love me."

And then he felt arms around him. Tight arms encircling him in a warm embrace like an ocean he could fall into forever. An embrace like he had always imagined from the creator he had always known, even if he didn't _know_ it.

"You have both things that you wanted, Bumblebee. You have the truth," Optimus breathed, holding him as tight as he dared. "And I do love you. I cannot begin to tell you how precious you are to me."

Optimus didn't need to say anymore, because in that moment, Bumblebee _knew_.


	19. To Start the Day II

Not much to say this time around, so I'll just write my usual review responses and get on with the chapter. Hope everyone is in the mood for horror-angst-fluff, in that order! ^_^

**CNightJoy**- A father-son moment between Optimus and Bumblebee was a long time coming. They had a lot of words to say to each other and it couldn't be held back any longer. =P As for Gloom... only time will tell what will happen to him. What i can say is that Nightbeat really is gone. There's no coming back from what happened to him. =(

**Standout4Christ**- Yes, I am aware of the many different eccentric pairings in the Transformers fandom. I'm not sure how any of them came about, though. For pairings like Optimus/Megatron, they're crack for people with esoteric tastes. Jazz and Prowl simply have their own appeal to them. ^_^

**renegadewriter8**- lol~ I don't think Bumblebee was too concerned with recording what he saw in the wash racks. XD BB may have some answers as to where he came from and who he is, but he's not all the way there yet. He still has a way to go...

**TransformersLover95**- lol~ I'm honoured that my portrayal of the characters influence your readings of the same characters in different stories. That is truly one of the best compliments I've ever heard. *blushes* As well, I'm glad you you enjoyed Bumblebee's "Gross, oh so gross" line." BB will never be the same again! XD

**Juzu**- Lucky for you, my dear, the calmness that was in the last chapter does follow through into this chapter. ^_^ But you are right, as well, the calmness you see now is only the calm before the storm. A really _big_ storm is coming.

**femme4jack**- Hahahaha, apparently BB did not get the memo that walking in on Jazz and Prowl is supposed to be enjoyed, not run away from! XD As for Punch and Gloom... well, you may want to keep an eye on the Lovecraft references (they secretly mean something) and also think carefully about Gloom being a pet. I don't think he's house trained! XD Overall, it's wonderful to hear that you enjoyed the chapter. Thank you so much for taking the time to review. :)

**Pruhana**- The father-son moment was a long time coming, my friend. I don't think Optimus or Bumblebee could have gone on for much longer without saying anything or imploding. ^_^; As for Punch/Counterpunch and Doubledealer/Dealer, I honestly did invent their history for this series. Since they didn't have a lot of information on the internet, so I just made it all up and turned them into characters that suited the story. I'm flattered that you think so highly of their portrayals. ^_^

**JenEvan**- Punch is definitely trying too hard to bring back Nightbeat... sadly, Nightbeat is never coming back. All there is is Gloom. :( As for Mirage, it might not be that Mirage has something for Punch's choice in literature. Maybe he has something for the reader...? =P You caught on to one of the themes of the end of the chapter. One hurdle has been crossed, but there are many more to go. It's just best to keep moving forward! =)

**Flameshield**- Hot & steamy alongside cavity-causing sweet was exactly what I was going for! =P I am quite sure that if Optimus had insisted on going to the wash racks with BB, he would not have been pleased with what he found there. XD

**Midnight Marquis**- Haha, sometimes a good old squeal can't be helped! XD Thanks for reviewing. =)

**1bloodtempest**- You imagine WE Perceptor as TFA Perceptor? LOL! His version here is simply a compilation in my head, though is vaguely influenced from another story on this site that was written a few years ago. ^_^; To understand what he looks like, think of a praying mantis, now make it nine feet tall, now make a robot, now make the metal shiny copper colour. That's Perceptor! 8D As for Punch and his cyanide, it does give his energon an extra little bitter kick to it that he likes. If we were to try cyanide, we wouldn't taste it at all- it's colourless and tasteless, so we'd just die. ^_^ Oh! And your questions about the O13; each planet's deities are as unique as the people on the planet, right? The O13 are bound directly to Cybertron since their sole purpose for existence is to serve their master and protect the planet, so they can't physically move very far from Cybertron. However, if they pool their powers, they can astrally project themselves certain distances. Psi can move around as he pleases because he is no longer bound to Cybertron- he's a major asshole like that. XD

**Frenzy5150**- You're quite the astute reader, aren't you? I am indeed manoeuvring the characters around in order for the shit to hit the fan with maximum effect, but it may be a while yet before the manoeuvring is done. So many characters to deal with, and they all have to be facing the fan when the shit hits. XD

**Lyra**- My friend, you may say that you are not very good at the "review" thing, but I can honestly say that you did an amazing job with the review you wrote. I've probably read it a dozen times by now, and each time I am touched a little more. It is an honour to know that Sunstreaker's portrayal in this series has touched you on such a deep level and given you the hope that it has. ^_^ As for how Starscream's character has developed in this story, I've never watched Armada nor did I plan to have his character reflect any characteristics portrayed in that series, so if there are any similarities, it's simply a coincidence. ^_^; The Latin Psi used a couple chapters back roughly translats into "I did not kill her." Thank you so much for taking the time to review! ^_^

Read, Review, and Enjoy~

**May We Never Let Go  
To Start the Day II**

"Fuck, not again."

But, oh yes, it was happening again. He was _dreaming. _

No matter how hard he prayed, how desperately he wished, or how many sleeping aids he took at night that guaranteed dreamless sleep,he always came back to this shifting world in his head. This mercurial place of nightmares. Tonight, he was in a desert, but not the one he lived in. Instead of hard ground and scrub bushes, there were endless dunes of diamond-dusted sand glittering under moonlight. There was no sound in the dreamscape except for a low droning noise like the distant lurch of gigantic gears grinding against each other. He felt the night against his skin, cool and dry, but also crackling with energy. Negative energy. The kind that made his stomach feel like it was turning inside out, all the hair on his body standing on end.

Glancing down at himself, he was disturbed to find he was naked. God, was he ever getting tired of showing up naked in his dreams. Worse yet was the gouge patterns in his skin had returned, too. Under the moonlight, he could see straight down into his arms and legs. He could count each of his ribs. His bones glowed too white, back-lit by pulsing blue energy that flowed beneath like blood. For one morbid moment, he worried about getting sand into the gouges. Sand getting into any body cavity was uncomfortable, but he figured it would be extra disturbing having sand sprinkle down onto his bones.

The blue neon glow that came from the glyphs seemed to become stronger the longer he stared at his mutilated body. It took a moment to realize, but it wasn't himself that was glowing brighter. The world around him was becoming _darker_.

Casting his gaze to the sky, he noted with a shock that the moon was fading. The stars as well were disappearing, though instead of fading like the moon did, they simply winked out of existence. One by one, they ceased to shine. Velvet blue-blackness of the sky deepened into a fathomless pit. The darkness turned so deep that it felt like it wasn't the sky anymore. It was a window into another place where light did not shine; a bottomless abyss where no living things existed. A dank, rotted stench fell from the hole in the sky, wrapping around Sam like a wet blanket of rotted swamp and corpses.

It was a whole other universe leaching in through the sky.

A dark universe.

A _dead _universe.

Within that widening hole in the sky, things churned in the darkness. Sam couldn't see them, but he could feel them staring back at him. Their stare was avid, unblinking, with an infinite number of eyes looking down on him as if he were but a mere speck in the universe. Greed, hunger, and an evil as thick as tar pressed in on Sam from all sides. He could feel the stare like a physical weight, the sensation of slime and razor blades against his skin making him sick. The longer he stayed under the stare, the more he felt his humanity drain from him. He felt dirtied, his soul blackened by the mere presence of whatever lurked on the other side of the dead void.

Forcing his eyes away from the sky, Sam tried to focus on the sand at his feet. His heart jolted when he realized that in the unlight, the sand had darkened from golden-white to a shade of shadowed obsidian. Black, black, black like shiny tar. Darkly glittering shards of malignant ice that burned beneath his feet instead of froze. Though no light shone, a dull reddish haze seemed to reflect from the dark depths of the black sand.

"Fuck, this is so messed up," Sam cursed, wishing he would wake up already. He'd already tested his feet, only to discover them trapped to the spot he was in. He hoped someone would show up soon. Maybe those amber-eyed ghost things that always seemed so desperate to talk to him. Hell, he'd even take Lucifer right now if it meant he'd wake up that much sooner.

A shot of awareness jolted through him like a bolt of electricity. Not awareness like he was waking but, but awareness of danger approaching. He reacted without conscious thought, head shooting up to focus on an approaching shadow. Something was moving toward him, its colour dark but not quite the same shade as the sand and sky, which bled together into one massive entity of nothingness.

Sam squinted, fear and adrenaline pumping through him like acid. He could make out red light where the eyes should be. There was only a single figure, but in that single figure the evil of the universe seemed to be concentrated. Its outline blurred and shifted like the desert sands. One moment, a creature of unfathomable evil crawling like a plague of insects. Next, a pharaoh of the black sands, disturbingly human except for the red eyes that glowed and flickered like infernal fire. Another form and another. A thousand of them, each more disturbing than the next. Some familiar, some not. A shift in the air, and the figure was now metallic. Tall and handsome, painfully beautiful with smooth obsidian armour that was blacker than black. Too much knowledge glittered in those too red optics. Power radiated from every fluid movement of his frame.

The Nemesis Prime.

Sam tensed, prepared to... fight? Run? His fists clenched, his heartbeat burning like grenade explosions in his chest. Whatever this creature was, it wasn't normal. It wasn't Cybertronian. Damn it, he knew intrinsically, right down to his seared away soul, that this creature wasn't even _alive_.

Nemesis Prime stopped, his body still shifting between a thousand different forms. He met Sam's stare steadily, knowingly. The edges of his mouthplates slowly curled upward into a smile that dripped with wicked promise.

* * *

The alarm clock had been set for 6:30 in the morning so that Mikaela would have time to get up, catch a quick shower and maybe something to eat, before she ran out the door to grab her motorcycle and zip home. This morning was her turn to open up Hot Autobodies, the garage she and Chase co-owned. Opening the place wasn't much of a chore, but Chase and Mikaela took it on rotating shifts to give each other a chance to sleep in every other day. They had a good rhythm like that. Raoul had been with them long enough that they trusted him to open shop occasionally, and Tungsten was just too adorable to say no to when he wanted to be helpful, so that meant even more mornings where the Banes women were lucky enough to sleep in.

Most mornings, it wasn't too bothersome to get up a little earlier than usual to open shop, since the garage sat only thirty feet from the house. Didn't require a lot of effort to get to the place on time. But on the mornings when Mikaela stayed at Sam's, like now, she had to get up at a time of morning that generally left her grumpy until she mainlined some caffeine into her bloodstream. The early mornings and grumpiness were a small price to pay in order to stick close to Sam and make sure he was all right, but it got on her nerves when she thought too much about it.

Grumpiness notwithstanding, Mikaela had every intention of showing up at work.

Unfortunately, life does not always work out the way you want it to.

What really happened was that the alarm clock _did_ go off at the right time, but before it could wake anyone up, Sam rolled over and accidentally brushed it with his forearm. His night had been rather fitful, full of dreams and nightmares that swirled together into a kaleidoscope of sounds and images that enthralled and frightened him. With the slightest bit of adrenaline in his blood, energy flickered to life and released into the nearest electronic device. With a bright blue flash, the alarm clock was reduced to a smoking pile of black, melting plastic and sparking wires. He barely felt the accidental discharge, so he remained sleeping, rolling over on his side to wrap his arms around his girlfriend and slip into a deeper sleep.

Mikaela briefly stirred, drawn to wakefulness by the acrid scent of burning plastic, but drifted off again when she felt sleepy lips fluttering along the column of her neck. She had become so accustomed to smelling burning plastic over the last few weeks that it barely registered with her anymore. Sam had already blown up the microwave, her cell phone, his BlackBerry, Miles' iPad (again), and several other electronics. By now her nose was immune to the burning stink, though her heart hurt every time she had to calm Sam down when he started to freak out.

But this accident passed them by peacefully until seven in the morning passed, and then it was eight. The phone didn't ring until a little after 8:30, and even then it was only by the fourth ring that either Mikaela or Sam were awake enough to realize what was making the noise.

"Phone," Sam groaned, nudging Mikaela.

"You get it," Mikaela grumbled, nudging him back.

With a heaving sigh, Sam pushed up and flopped his hand along the nightstand. He came in contact with the melted remnants of their alarm clock, realizing immediately what it was. He cursed acidly, startling Mikaela into twisting around to see what was the matter. She saw the destroyed clock and instantly her eyebrows knitted together, a worried frown pulling at the corners of her lips. Sam managed to grab the phone and drag it to his ear before she could say anything.

"This better be good," he growled into the mouthpiece instead of bothering to say hello to anyone.

"Time to get your ass in gear, Sammy," Will said, sounding far too cheerful. "You realize that you're late, right? We're waiting for you."

"Wha-? What time is it?" Sam groaned.

"8:30," Will replied, but then someone shouted something in the background. "Oh, sorry, Darby says it's 8:37 now." There was definite sarcasm laced in there. Jack Darby had a nervous thing about time the same way Sam had a thing about cleaning.

Sam groaned, irritation prickling down his skin. He hated being late for anything, especially work. It made his whole day feel off. It didn't help that he was also angry and scared that he'd fried the alarm clock in his sleep. With every week that passed, his control over the Allspark seemed to slip a little more. The heartburn he used to feel on occasions almost never went away now. Every time something like this happened, he was reminded that he was dancing on death's door, one zap away from having the Allspark burn his whole soul away.

"Sam?" Will prompted when he got no response out of Sam. "Hey, buddy, did you fall back asleep?"

"What? No, sorry," Sam grunted, scrubbing his knuckles over his eyes.

Will's knowing chuckle flowed through the phone line. "Rough night?"

"Something like that. And it looks like I... forgot to set the alarm clock," Sam replied through clenched teeth, hoping to sound as normal as possible. "Give me fifteen minutes and I'll be in."

"Sure thing." Will hung up, clearly expecting to see Sam in the next fifteen minutes and not a minute later. Just because Sam Witwicky was the ambassador between Earth and the Autobots didn't mean he didn't do the grunt work around base, as well. Acting all high and mighty didn't sit well with him, so he worked like a normal EDC agent most days. He also preferred working closely with the military units that worked on base for the dual purpose of being able to keep in touch with Will and Epps while keeping an eye on the other soldiers, because one never knew what a government might secretly order their fighting force to do while stationed in the heart of sensitive territory.

It took a moment after Will hung up before Sam moved to hang up his own phone. He tried to put the phone on the cradle without looking directly at the remains of the clock, but it couldn't be helped. He stared at it angrily, as if everything in the world was the clock's fault. What if one of these mornings, he zapped something in his sleep and took it one volt too far and set the house on fire? If he kept this up, with the Allspark burning him a little more with every release, one of these mornings Mikaela could wake up to a dead man lying beside her. That would be so fucking messed up.

Mikaela had her eyes glued on the melted clock, which looked just like that painting by Salvador Dali with the melting clocks on it and all that other freaky surrealist stuff that she never really understood. She bit her lip, eyes warily tracking to her boyfriend.

"Sam?"

His muscles jerked, as if hearing his own named startled him.

"You okay?" Mikaela asked carefully.

"I didn't mean to fry the clock," he sighed. It was _his_ clock, so he didn't actually need to apologize to anyone over its destruction, but he felt like he needed to say something. It made him feel better to apologize.

"I know you didn't," Mikaela said, using a soothing tone that she had perfected after several years of dealing with him.

Sam flinched as if she had struck him. "I'll get a new one today."

"It was an accident," Mikaela replied, reaching out a hand to smooth across Sam's shoulders, rubbing the tense muscles there. He looked at her with a desperation that broke her heart. His eyes were too bright, too blue. They almost never stopped glowing now. It wasn't noticeable during the day, but when they spent their evenings together, she noticed the dull blue light that reflected in the irises. Like almost everything else in his life, Sam didn't talk about what was going on with his Allspark condition. Mikaela wasn't stupid, she knew something was wrong. Things like this didn't keep happening if everything was perfectly all right. But Sam refused to talk about it, just like he refused to talk about the weird dreams she knew he had. He refused to let her see that side of himself, refused to let her in that deep. All Mikaela had was patience to deal with him, and even that was not limitless.

Sam clenched his fists, nodding.

"Hey, you should get ready for work," she prompted, which only reminded her that she had work of her own. Rolling over to her side of the bed, she scuffled through the mess that was her designated nightstand, searching for her phone. Then she remembered that the battery had died last night so she had plugged it into the wall for it to recharge. Sliding out from the warm sheets, shivering as naked skin met cold morning air, Mikaela snatched up her phone from the floor and peered at the time. She squinted at the small numbers informing her that it was now 8:42 in the morning; she was disgustingly late for work.

"Oh fuck, Chase is going to kill me," she cursed.

"I guess we should both get ready, huh?" Sam said quietly.

"Yeah, I needed to be home an hour ago," Mikaela groaned. "_Fuck._"

Sam ended up dressed before Mikaela was. Even his sullen mood did not distract him from being an efficient little soldier. His sense of cleanliness had only gotten worse over the years until even his closet had become an OCD paradise of ultimate order. He pulled out a perfectly pressed uniform and had it on in under three minutes. His teeth were brushed and his wiry hair was smoothed back within a minute. He had time to wander out into the kitchen for something to eat while Mikaela still dressed.

As the complete antithesis of her boyfriend, Mikaela was not a clean freak. She liked living with a little bit of clutter so a place felt "lived in". The floor on her side of the bed had more clothes on it than her dresser drawer contained, piled high with colourful clothing she'd spent years combing through used clothing shops to find at bargain prices. The trick to controlling the mess was figuring out which were dirty clothes and which were clean. Since she was in a hurry this morning, her consideration of what was clean and what was dirty was at a minimal. A pair of ripped jeans, a yellow tank top, and her leather jacket were thrown on. Her overalls for work were crushed into a backpack. Her hair was thrown back into a horribly messy knot; no makeup, no brushing her teeth. She was going to look like shit showing up at the garage, but at least she was showing up at all.

Sam watched her from the doorway of the bedroom, a glass of orange juice held out in his hand. Mikaela took the offering with a bare smirk, downing it as fast as physically possible.

"Thanks, lover," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Don't know what I'd do without you." She popped up to her toes to lay a sweet kiss to his cheek. Normally, a little kiss would be enough to get a smile out of him, but this time the gloominess did not fade. Mikaela's heart twinged, wishing there was more she could do for him. She cupped his warm cheek with her palm, getting him to look her in the eye. "Hey, don't worry about the clock, Sam. You hear me? It was just a silly accident."

Sam nodded, unable to bring himself to say anything. He just cast his eyes to the floor, looking so tired and worn out that it hurt to look at him.

Mikaela wrapped her arms around him, deciding that she was already a little late for work, so a little more wouldn't hurt. "We'll figure this out. I promise."

His arms came around her so tightly that she thought he might crush her. He was shaking a little.

"If you're worried about it, you could go to Optimus again. He has some control over the Allspark with the Matrix, doesn't he? Maybe he could help you control the Allspark if it's getting out of hand," she suggested.

"No, I won't bother him with this," Sam murmured, holding her a little tighter. He didn't like what he felt when he saw the Matrix. Whenever Optimus brought it out with Sam near, Sam's body never felt like his own. His eyes would be drawn to the glittering relic, unable to look away, hypnotized by the sight of it like a moth to a flame. So long as he was entranced by the Matrix, his body would not move even if he was screaming at it to do so. Only an order from the Prime made him move. The loss of control frightened him, reminding him of how ultimately _inhuman_ he was now, and prompting his staunch avoidance of the Cybertronian relic as often as possible.

A fission of annoyance zinged through Mikaela. "But if you need help-."

"Not with this. I'm fine. I can control this," Sam insisted, his arms tightening around her.

She pressed her face into his chest and inhaled his warm, familiar scent. "I wish there was something more I could do for you," she murmured into his crisp uniform jacket. "Maybe if you talked to me a little more about what you're going through...?"

He sighed, held her tight for a moment longer, then released her. "It's nothing," he said, trying to smile for her. She wondered if he realized that she knew he was lying right to her face. Her heart twinged again, this time in hurt because of the lie.

"Sam..."

"Really, Mikaela, you don't have to worry about it," Sam continued to lie with that forced smile on his face. There was a greyish tint to his skin that Mikaela had never noticed before.

Her hand tightened in the material of his jacket sleeve. "Sam, I know when something's wrong. I can see it in your eyes."

Those too blue eyes.

He turned his head away, shutting his eyes tight. He didn't want her to see the glow. He released Mikaela and stepped away as if he couldn't stand to touch her anymore. "Really, Mikaela, I can take care of it."

Mikaela blinked, then her eyes narrowed. Wow, he just kept on lying straight to her face and it didn't even faze him to do it. Good to know that lying to his own girlfriend didn't register on Sam's scale of things to be guilty over. While she knew that he probably had his reasons for keeping his turmoil to himself, she didn't exactly have the goodwill at the moment to let it slide. No caffeine in the morning for her meant that she was going to be a tiny bit _irrational_.

"Come on, we should get going. Work and all that," Sam sighed, hoping to escape before he had to have a heart-to-heart on something he wasn't ready to talk about.

"Yeah, right..." It wasn't fair that she was doing everything for him and he didn't even have the decency to tell her the truth. She stayed here with him when he needed her, took time off of work to take care of him after the minor corrective surgery to fix his misaligned interfacial ports, soothed him when he freaked out over electrocuting something, and what did he give her? Bullshit by the shovel load. Mikaela might pride herself on having a better handle on her temper than her aunt, but she sure as hell had limits... and after two months of putting up with Sam being all needy one moment and a distant, lying asshat the next, her limit was coming up quick.

With a quick look up and down Sam's rangy frame, Mikaela wrinkled her nose and said- with no small amount of irritation- "I don't see what the big deal is with talking to me about what's going on with you."

"There's nothing to talk about, Mickey. It's just the same kind of shit that's been going on for years," Sam replied, but defensiveness had crept into his voice.

"Yeah, the kind of stuff you haven't talked to me about since high school," she pointed out.

"Maybe there's a reason for that," Sam said tightly, stepping out of the bedroom doorway. He tried to make his way to the door out of the apartment to escape, but Mikaela didn't let him get that far. Now she was determined to have this talk. She rushed around him, standing her ground so he was forced to stop and couldn't pass her unless he physically picked her up and moved her aside. Meeting her honey-brown stare, Sam could see the incredulity in her flashing eyes and he almost flinched. This was _not_ going to be a peaceful talk.

"What reason could there possibly be for shutting me out like this?" Mikaela demanded, fists clenched.

It took a moment for Sam to find an answer. She could see his jaw working, clenching and unclenching. It looked like whatever he was trying to say was bringing him physical pain. Finally, he managed to unhinged his jaw and said, "I don't want you involved in this, Mikaela. It's my problem. I'll deal with it."

Mikaela gaped, shocked to have been given such a pigheaded answer. "Are you kidding me? We're supposed to be in this _together."_

"We are together-!"

"Yes, Sam, we're dating, but you're not treating me like an equal here," Mikaela huffed. "You're acting like some macho idiot who can't let his own girlfriend help him."

Sam jerked back, a scowl marring his features. "I am not!"

"You are too!" Because that answer sounded _so mature_. "Why can't you let me in to help you deal with your problems? I _want_ to help you, Sam."

"I don't have a problem," Sam pouted mulishly, a muscle under his eye twitching.

"That is such a lie!" She threw her hands up, aware that her temper was finally getting the better of her. Gods, why did Sam have to be such a stubborn jackass! "I'm getting really tired of being shut out."

"I'm not shutting you out-!" Sam exclaimed, but even he knew that wasn't true.

"You lie straight to my face!" Mikaela cried. "I've tried being patient with you, I've tried being understanding. You're under a lot of pressure, I get that, but I'm running out of ideas here. I don't know what you want from me."

"Mikaela, you're completely blowing this out of proportion," Sam pointed out, trying to be reasonable about it. His incident with the alarm clock had fried his own nerves, so exasperation laced his pseudo-calm tone. "You've been perfect, you really have. It's me, okay? I can't... I can't give you what you want right now."

"Really, Sam?" Mikaela sneered, not at all impressed by his lacklustre words. "It's okay for me to give everything to you, but you can't give the same thing to me. You're too important to spare that much for me?"

Sam's gaze snapped away from the door, where he'd been eyeing it as if trying to figure out if there was a way to get around Mikaela before he'd get caught. The blue of his irises shot bright. "That's not true! I love you, Mickey. You know I love you!"

"Prove it!" she snapped.

"That's not fair. I do everything I can, Mikaela," Sam said. "I love you too much to get you mixed up in horrible shit that you have no business getting your hands dirty in! If I keep something from you, it's for your own good."

"For fuck's sake, _are you serious_?" Mikaela exclaimed, gesturing violently. Her temper? Pretty much running free now. "I'm not some brainless twit that you need to coddle, you jerk! You don't need to baby me! I've been through the same shit you've been through. We're fighting the same war, so stop treating me like we're on opposite sides!"

Sam drew back, but his own temper was definitely starting to get the best of him. "We're not on opposite sides, Mikaela, but we're fighting from different positions. I'm right in the middle of things, you're not!"

"Bullshit!" she spat.

"You think it's bullshit? Gods, Mikaela, you don't know what it's like! You don't even know the first thing-!" He gestured to himself, his face twisted into too many emotions to name. Flashbacks of too many dreams to count haunted him. "I've got the goddamn Allspark inside of me! No matter what I do, where I go, it's _inside_ me! I have to deal with that every moment of my goddamned life!"

"But-!"

"No! No 'buts' about it!" Sam spat. "I don't have a choice in this war! I never had a choice from the moment I put my great-grandfather's fucking glasses on eBay! But you-!" He gestured again, this time to her. Little spiderwebs of power flickered from his fingertips. "You have the choice, don't you? You can walk away if you want! At the end of the day when things get too much for you, you can go home where you're safe and you don't have to think about this shit!"

"_How dare you!"_ she screeched, looking and feeling as if she had just been slapped. Her cheeks, already blushed pink, turned deep red with anger and humiliation.

Sam wasn't backing down now that the words had been said. "It's true, Mikaela! You're just a mechanic, not a soldier! You don't have to be here! You don't have to care about any of this shit!"

"Is that what you really think of me? That I'm _just a mechanic?_ Like I don't care about you and everyone else fighting this war? I might not be on the front lines, Sam, but I damn well have been doing my part!" She backed up, feeling as if her skin was on fire. Her chest was heaving, her head throbbing, blood and anger rushing in her ears.

"All you do is fix cars!" Sam yelled.

An angry screech came out of her, finally taken to one insult too far. "You know what? Fine! _Fine!_ All I do is fix fucking cars, 'cause I'm just some fucking mechanic! I get it! I don't _need_ to be here in your fucking war! You don't _want_ me in your fucking war! So you know what? I'll do you a favour! I'll leave!"

That seemed to throw ice onto Sam's fire. Fear and regret flashed on his face. "No, wait, Mikaela-!" He reached for her.

"Screw off! You're getting what you want! I'm leaving!" She spun on her heel and marched for the door, sparing only a second to grab her boots and shoot him the middle finger. "And guess what? This fucking mechanic might not have to be in this war, and she damn well doesn't have to be with you either!"

For her own satisfaction, she slammed the door as hard as she could.

A few steps down the hall, she knew that she had hit Sam where it really hurt, because all the light bulbs in the hall exploded.

* * *

Much unlike the Witwicky apartment, the Banes household that morning was uncommonly peaceful for a Wednesday morning. No EDC agents had shown up in the morning for breakfast, and the two that had crashed in the living room for the night had already stolen food and were gone for work. The whole place was quiet, a perfect place to relax and have a bit of a lay in for the morning.

Chase was indeed enjoying this rare moment of subtle perfection. Even her room, usually a busy place full of smells and clutter, seemed to be at ease. Most of the clothes that normally laid around in disarray were swept into the hamper to be washed. The stink of sweat and alcohol was aired out by the balcony door that had been left open for the night. Her sheets were a warm, soft embrace around her, enticing her to go right back to sleep. Chase could not help but grin lazily at her delight over such a perfect moment. It was rare to have a morning that was not ruined somehow but the comings and goings of the many others who insisted on tracking through her house. A subtle shift in her body alerted her company to her wakefulness, prompting him to wrap his arms around her and draw her close. Chase startled for a moment before remembering exactly who was behind her.

"Hey, you're awake," Hound rumbled into her ear, his deep voice vibrating across her skin and down her spine.

"Yeah, I'm awake. You been online for long?" she asked, caressing her fingers across Hound's forearm where it rested just beneath her breasts. His skin was soft and warm, detailed with realistic hair and the smooth bumps of veins and muscles.

"Nah, just a little bit." He rubbed his forehead to her shoulder, then let his lips tickle along the exposed flesh of the back of her neck. He moved in the same lazy fashion that Chase was feeling at the moment.

She wriggled, snorting a laugh as he tickled her. "Were you watching me sleep, you perv?"

Hound chuckled. "Ah didn't mind watching ya sleep, drool and all."

"I don't drool." She elbowed him in the ribs, but he didn't even feel it.

"No, ya don't. But ya do snore, ya can't deny it."

"You snore louder than I do," Chase pouted. The night Hound got a rock stuck in one of his cooling fans was the night he snored so loud that Chase and Mikaela could hear him straight through a concrete basement floor and 10 feet of dirt.

Hound laughed, blowing warm air down Chase's back. "True. Ah can't get enough of how peaceful ya look when ya sleep," he said warmly.

"Maybe because I was having a good dream," Chase teased, rolling over so that she could wrap her arms around Hound's neck. She wasn't a cuddly person by far, but this morning felt like a different kind of morning for her. Everything was calm and quiet and peaceful, so there was no need for her usual guardedness to be in place.

A handsome smile pulled at the corners of Hound's mouth, his eyes dancing as he let his human press as close as she wanted. Chase might not have been a cuddly person, but he certainly was. He loved cuddling, whether in his Cybertronian form or in his human holoform. He loved it _especially_ in his holoform, because he could get so much closer to the one he was cuddling with. He could feel so much more through pseudo-flesh than he could through metal.

"What were you dreaming about?" he dared to ask, helpless to do otherwise.

"Do you really want to know?" she teased, drawing her leg over Hound's hip, bringing him a little closer. Pure skin-to-skin contact. Like ecstasy.

"Maybe Ah could guess," he drawled, his eyebrows arching.

"I'll give you a hint," she breathed. "It had to do with the colour _green_."

"It must have been a very interesting dream, then," Hound chuckled, one of his hands running down her side to tickle over her thigh.

"_Very_ interesting," Chase agreed, shivering at his touch. Her fingers tangled in the shaggy black mop of Hound's hair, noticing the threads of silver he'd incorporated into the mess. He tried to match her physical age, always trying to look like he was human enough to be with her. It didn't bother her today. She decided that nothing was going to bother her today. It was too nice a morning to ruin it by being herself. So instead of getting all antsy because she was naked and cuddling with a man-shaped thing made out of nanobots arranged in a matrix emitting a solid hologram, Chase just sifted her hands deeper into Hound's hair and let him hold her for as long as they both dared.

Hound must have really liked her fingers running along his scalp, because he made a growling-purring noise that sounded like the engine of an expensive sports car. His big body sagged into her touch, wrapping a little closer around Chase. He settled deeper between her legs, pressing there without thinking about what it meant.

"Keep doing that," he groaned in delight. "It feels good."

Chase rolled her eyes, but kept playing with his hair.

"Ah love it when ya do that." He snuggled down until he could press his face into her chest, shivering as her fingers sifted and tugged along his scalp. He loved a human's sense of touch. Loved how wonderful it felt to have someone run their fingers through his hair or wrap their warm body around him. This was the closest thing he had to escaping from reality. He could be the closest thing to a human like this.

"God, you are so weird," Chase sighed, wriggling a bit to get comfortable again.

He purred for her, hooking her leg higher on his hip to bring her body even more intimately close to his. It was an intimate gesture that made Chase's breath catch, but it was anything but sexual for Hound. He knew he wasn't ready for was the intense sensation inherent in human genitalia. He came from a species that existed with a distinct lack of tactical sense compared to organic species, so sometimes even a basic understanding of human touch was overwhelming. The intimate sensation of genital stimulation was a little too much for him to handle. So even as he pressed between Chase's legs, his holoform anatomically built as a human male, there was no more sensation down there as there would be anywhere else. He felt bad that he might be arousing his human with his attentions, unable to respond to her as a real human would.

"Back it up, big guy," Chase grunted, shuffling out of that situation. Like Hound, she knew there was no point in getting hot and bothered when there was no way in hell she'd go through with anything with a hologram.

"Sorry. Got carried away," he murmured, ducking his head to nibble along the curve of Chase's shoulder, only to bury his face in the hollow of her neck. Her tangled hair tickled him, her scent of human skin, wild things, and maybe a hint of vodka made him lightheaded.

Chase sighed, rolling her eyes, laughing quietly as the hologram snuffled his way along her skin. After seven years of hanging around humans, Hound certainly had caught on to a thing or two. He was a lot more talented at fitting in than many other transformers she could think of. It was probably from all the time he had spent on other alien worlds, studying other organic alien species. He could almost make her forget he wasn't human.

He wrapped his arms tighter around her, pressing his head into her hands like a giant cat, hoping that she would play with his hair a little more.

"Could you be any more adorable?" she said almost like a chastisement.

"Don't know, maybe," Hound sighed contentedly. "Ah could try."

Chase rolled her eyes, glad that she had invited him to stay with her the night before. When Mikaela stayed with Sam on base, Chase either went down to Hound's apartments to stay with him for the night or she invited his hologram up to stay with her. Last night, he'd already been up with her to watch a movie in the living room with Raoul, Leo, and a handful of agents who had wanted to escape from base for a short while. It wasn't awkward at all to have him in her bed if she wasn't thinking too hard about the matter. The only thing that got to her sometimes was the fact that his holoform tended to smell like a new car.

They laid together for a little while longer, then Chase finally had to roll out Hound's embrace.

"Okay, I think it's time to get up," she groaned, popping to her feet and stretching. Large hands slid over her hips, clever lips trailing up her spine. The little scruff of hair on Hound's chin tickled her. She laughed and jumped away.

"You're such a goof," she admonished playfully.

"Ah thought ya said Ah was adorable," Hound teased.

"You're both."

She grabbed her flannel shorts and a thin shirt, peering over at Hound to watch as he stood up and stretched, his hologram flickering for a moment before a pair of jeans appeared. No shirt. Just the way she liked it. To be honest, it was a damn good view from the back and from the front, all broad shoulders and defined muscles, with deliciously warm, velvet skin stretched over top. More than a few human women from base liked the view with a uniform on top, but Chase knew the shirtless landscape was definitely all for her benefit. He caught her staring and winked at her. She rolled her eyes.

"Don't you have work to do?" she asked, making her way out of the room and letting him follow.

"Not anymore, no," Hound shrugged.

She glanced back, her dark brow arching. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

He thumped down the stairs behind her, a grin laced through his voice as he answered her "You remember Karaoke Night at Nebula II a couple weeks ago, right?"

"How could I forget?" Chase drawled. She hadn't been there, because humans generally weren't allowed or welcomed into the underground facilities, but Blaster had posted some really stupid videos of the night on his Facebook page. The image of Sideswipe singing Bon Jovi songs would never leave her.

"Smokescreen started a little game of poker in the back and Ah decided to try mah luck," Hound said.

"I take it your luck was pretty good, then?"

"Mah luck was _very _good," Hound purred. "Ah don't have anymore shifts for the next couple of orns." He'd also been smart enough to drop out of the game before Prowl and Jazz had gotten in on the action. Jazz had brutally wicked cheating skills that no one was ever able to track, and Prowl just strategized the pit out of the game until it wasn't fun anymore. The one round Hound played had been enough to get him out of several shifts of work, and he was satisfied with that.

They hit the bottom of the stairs, turning into the kitchen.

"Oh my, so much free time now. What will you do with it all?" Chase wondered, flashing him a glittering look that made her obsidian eyes dance.

"Ah know what Ah'm going ta start with," Hound growled playfully before grabbing Chase from behind and hauling her up. She shrieked, struggling against him, fighting his hand even as she laughed. Before she could break free, he carried her into the kitchen and plopped her down on the counter next to the sink. Her shirt had been rucked up over her ribs and her shorts had ridden up uncomfortably high, but she grinned as she righted her clothing and pushed her wild hair out of her face.

"What was that for?" she wondered, pushing at his shoulders when he braced his hands on either side of her.

"Ah'm gonna make ya breakfast," he purred, leaning in. He looked like a playful rogue. "Pancakes, eggs, anything ya want." He had a lot of experience with making human food, breakfast especially. He was practically an expert at it. It was a hobby he liked to indulge in because it was something that made both Chase and Mikaela smile, and he liked treating them when he could. They were his family, after all. He loved his family.

"Anything I want?" Chase drawled cheekily.

"Anything.._. _within reason._"_

"Just had to qualify that, didn't you?" she snorted.

Hound chuckled. "Well, ya have been known ta be a bit unreasonable at times." He rubbed his cheek to hers. "Part of the reason Ah like ya so much."

"Aren't I getting the royal treatment today," she murmured, reaching up to cup Hound's face. The pad of her thumb ran along his full bottom lip. Even though the skin wasn't real, his lip felt soft and warm. Her thumb lingered, and Hound kissed the digit gently, watching as her eyes followed the motion. He watched as her lids went half-mast, her own lips parting a fraction. He purred again, a low vibrating noise.

"I think I know what I want for breakfast now," she said quietly, even knowing it was ridiculous to ask for. One taste of him and it was going to have her bent over the sink, spitting into it. While holograms smelled like new cars, they also carried a very strong metallic flavour, like having a handful of stale pennies shoved into your mouth.

Hound paused, thinking the same thing she was. He didn't want to ruin the morning with the unfortunate way his hologram tasted.

Why couldn't he just have been born human? Everything would have been so much easier!

"Okay, I know, stupid thing to say," Chase sighed to break the lingering silence that had fallen between them. "Just forget about it."

"It's hard ta forget how bad Ah want ta kiss ya," he sighed, about to back away and completely ruin the moment, but his eye caught on a crumpled up cloth near the sink. A thin cotton dishcloth. _Perfect_. "Maybe we don't have ta forget..." He leaned away to snatch it up, grinning when he caught Chase's confused look.

"What are you-?"

"Guess."

He covered her mouth with the dishcloth, then covered the cloth with his mouth before she could say anything.

There was a moment of surprise for Chase while her brain caught up with what was happening, then a muffled laugh fell from behind the dishcloth. She was getting exactly what she asked for. Such a clever bot her Hound was. The dishcloth was thin enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from Hound's skin, could feel every little movement of his lips against hers, but thick enough to prevent her from choking on his metallic taste. She was pleasantly surprised to find that after all those years of Hound sneaking kisses from her, he wasn't so horrible at the act itself. He wasn't the best, either, but who could blame him when his species didn't exactly have lips or practised the art of lip-locking?

The thought suddenly struck her that they should have thought of using a cloth _years_ ago.

Hound made a giddy sound when he realized that Chase wasn't jerking away in disgust or trying to assault him. He was suddenly excited to discover that he was allowed to kiss her while she was sober and aware of everything that was happening... not that he regularly kissed her when she was otherwise. It was usually the other way around when he tried to deal with her when she was inebriated. Albeit, he had to be careful while kissing her now to keep the cloth between them. Cautiously, so cautiously, he took a half-step toward to lean in a little closer, slanting his mouth a little firmer against Chase's. He moved slowly, letting her guide him. He felt her smile against his lips.

"Who else have you been practising this with?" she teased without breaking the odd kiss.

Hound laughed, a guilty but humoured sound. "Other Autobots' holograms, mostly. They don't mind helping me- they think it's funny."

Chase thought it was funny too, tilting away to laugh. She could only imagine which Autobots he'd managed to sucker into practising kissing with him. Even trying to think about it was too funny, only making her laugh harder. She hunched forward, arms wrapped around her middle. The cloth fell away from between them, crumpling between Chase's spread legs.

"It's not _that _funny," Hound pouted, wanting to return to kissing rather than be laughed at.

"You're right, sorry," Chase chuckled, wiping a stray tear from the side of her eye. "You got to admit, though, it is _kind of_ funny."

He rolled his eyes, but instead of giving her a verbal answer, he picked the cloth back up and resumed their original activity. He put a lot more zeal into the act, mostly to prove that he had been practising and that he was quite good at the lip and jaw movements. Luckily, the barrier between them prevented them from using tongue, which would have screwed him up terribly. He was horrible at anything that had to do with human tongues- wretched things, so hard to control, like a giant worm in the mouth! Even if he was practising with another hologram, both parties preferred to keep their tongues to themselves.

Chase stuttered for breath, yet again taken by surprise. A pleasant surprise. She wasn't the sentimental type, but she had to admit that she did feel _something_ in this kiss. Her hands slid upward, gripping his biceps. When she felt him trying to press even closer, she spread her knees wider to allow him into the space. The rough material of his jeans scraped her inner thighs. She locked her knees on his flanks, keeping him trapped in the crux of her legs. For a moment, guilt struck her, knowing that doing this with Hound's hologram wasn't fair. He was underground in his apartments right now, probably just laying on his berth in standby, and she was... taking advantage of his consciousness. It wasn't fair that she got turned on by this and he didn't really get anything out of it.

"Don't think about it," Hound murmured, sensing the moment Chase started pulling away. "_Please_ don't think about it. Ah want this. Ah do." As if to prove it, his hands dropped, snaking their way around her until they grasped the swell of her backside and dragged her to the edge of the counter. His lips turned firmer, trying to guide the kiss, but he was more eager than experienced. He just wanted her.

Finding that she didn't have the heart to say _no_ this time, Chase acquiesced to her friend's desperate demand. Her eyes closed and her body took over, giving in to what it had wanted for several years. The closeness and intimacy of someone she really cared for. Beneath her palms, she felt skin and muscle, strength and warmth. She slid her hands up, smoothing over his shoulders, feeling every ripple and roll of the body that she was wrapped around. Her fingers tunnelled their way through his thick hair, tugging him in the right direction to slant his mouth against hers. She locked her legs a little tighter, digging her heels into the backs of his thighs. Hound made that little purring noise again, vibrating all the way through Chase's body until even her blood held a pleasant hum.

This was perhaps one of the most innocent kisses Chase had ever engaged in- since neither of them were drunk or naked (or both), and no tongues or heavy petting was involved- but it was probably one of the most intimate she'd ever had.

Through the haze that had settled onto her brain from the kiss, Chase was aware of a very strange noise to her left. There was a click, a creak, and then a very short, sharp gasp. Following the noise was the very intense feeling of being stared at.

With an annoyed growl, Chase tightened her grip on Hound's hair and peeled him away. His mind was still fully engaged in the activity, trying to duck back to her mouth. She leaned away. The dishcloth had fallen from between them and she wasn't looking forward to a mouthful of copper pennies.

"Company," she grunted, immediately gaining the scout's attention. As one, they turned to regard whoever had walked in the backdoor. Raoul stood there, eyes wide and mouth gaping. The expression on his face might have been funny if it hadn't been directed at them. Chase felt embarrassment burn beneath her skin, but she immediately quashed it with her usual scowl and glare. "What do you want, Raoul?"

It took a moment for Raoul to gather his wits, running a hand through his long hair as he murmured a few stunned phrases in Spanish. He looked up at the pair of them, then looked down. Finally, he decided that it was best to pretend that he had seen nothing at all. He cleared his throat and asked, "Has Mikaela called here this morning?"

"No, why?" Chase wondered, giving Hound a subtle push. He respectfully stepped away, allowing her to slide both feet to the floor, pulling her clothes back into place. He tried to help, but she swatted his hands away. "Wasn't she supposed to open the shop today?"

Raoul scratched the back of his neck. "That's what I thought, but she never showed up. I had to open on my own."

"Huh..." She looked to Hound, but shrugged with the same confusion on his face that was written on hers. "Something must have happened..."

Hound touched the side of his head, obviously trying to get in touch with Mikaela's cell phone. He frowned. "Her cell phone's off. Ah can't trace her."

Raoul shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. "I'm going to need someone out there with me soon. Blaster just called- he said he's had a little accident and he needs a little help. Carly's driving him in right now. I've got other appointments I gotta look after."

"Can't Blaster go see Ratchet?" Chase sniffed stubbornly.

"He said it wasn't the kind of thing he wanted to admit to Ratchet," Raoul replied. "He must have done something embarrassing to himself."

"Ah can see him doing that," Hound chuckled.

"I'll be right out just as soon as I get dressed," Chase said. She then pointed a sharp finger in Raoul's direction, her black eyes glinting. "Say a word to anyone about what you saw this morning and I will personally throw you back over the Mexican border, hear me?"

He nodded quickly, zipping out the backdoor to return to the garage.

Hound glanced at Chase, hitching the waistband of his jeans up from where they had ridden nearly below his hipbones. "There goes our morning, huh?"

"I guess." She started on her way to the stairs, her lips compressed into a mulish line.

He watched her go, still feeling giddy from the kiss but disappointed that it had to end so soon. He didn't care that he didn't get any sexual pleasure out of kissing, the intimacy was good enough for him. Mostly, he just liked the opportunity to get so close to Chase. Before she was out of sight, he called out to her.

She stopped, backtracking two steps to regard him with an arched brow. "Yeah?"

"That breakfast offer is still open," he said a little unsteadily, quirking one of his hapless smiles.

She blinked at him, then a slow smile crept across her lips. "Toast, Hound. Just toast and something to drink. Nothing fancy, 'kay?"

"Promise."

"I'll be down in a bit," she said.

"Ah'll be waiting," he murmured.

"I know you will be," she replied gently, a wistful smile flitting at the edges of her kiss-bruised mouth, before mounting the stairs and disappearing to the second floor.


	20. To Keep Secrets

Hey everybody~ Just thought I'd do a double-post for the long weekend. First _Where You and I Collide_, now _May We Never Let Go. _If this chapter does well enough, maybe I'll do a triple-post and put up _Surface of the Sun_'s next chapter. ^_^ Hope everyone's doing well. If you're on your summer break already, best wishes! If not... well, that's unfortunate. Study hard, kids! 8D

**Standout4Christ**- Compared to a hologram's metallic taste, the taste of a dishcloth can certainly be considered the lesser evil of the two. =P As for Sam's vision... it was not just you who was creeped out by it. I totally freaked myself out by writing it! XD Thanks so much for reviewing! =D

**renegadewriter8**- You may ask why men are morons, but I don't think there's any good answer. XD Mikaela is a strong woman, a Banes woman at that, so she knows how to take care of herself and kick some ass while she's at it. =P Thank you so much for reviewing~

**Dazja**- D'awwww, I'm glad you enjoyed all the good Hound/Chase fun. They get so little screen time, and yet they're ridiculously fun to write for. XD Thanks so much for reviewing~

**phoebe turner**- I'm glad you loved it. ^_^ Thank you so much for reviewing~

**femme4jack**- My friend, you have no idea how you made me grin after reading your review! I just about did a dance! XD For one, I grovel at your feet for honestly liking Chase as an OC, not to mention liking Hound's portrayal as well. Those two have such a... _unique_ dynamic. =P Most of all, you made my day for pointing out some of the details that I agonize over to make this story as lifelike as possible; the Cybertronians' need for space without humans, as well as the human propensity to fight with those they care about instead of talking like rational people. Just knowing that a reader notices the little things really does make my day. =) Thank you so much for taking the time to review~

**CNightJoy**- You are definitely right about Sam trying to carry two worlds on his shoulders... and he's sadly not strong enough to do it on his own. But he's only human... mostly. He's stubborn, scared, and doesn't want to burden others with his own problems. Mikaela just happened to be the one he took it out on, and it didn't really help that she chose to get right in his face about it. ^_^; But with Nemesis Prime in the game, maybe it's smarter for Sam to put distance between those he loves, because Nemesis wouldn't hesitate to hurt them. . Thank you so much for reviewing~

**TransformersLover95**- Chase? Come to her senses? What nonsense is that? XD She's as irrational as they come, so even if she doesn't want to kiss metallic-tasting holo-Hound, she probably wouldn't want anyone else to do it either. You'd have better luck trying with another holoform. =P

**Violet-** Sam and Mikaela have managed to stick together for nearly eight years throughout this series, so I think they have the staying power to work this out... hopefully. =P Sam's stubbornness and his fear of his own shrinking humanity blinds him sometimes; he doesn't want to burden those he loves with his problems, even though all they want to do is help him. *sigh* Thank you so much for reviewing~

**JenEvan**- Writing the fight between Sam and Mikaela was actually one of the most difficult things I've had to write for this story so far. Physical fights are so easy to choreography, but verbal fights have to have such a balance to them... they're incredibly hard to convey through words on a screen. _ However, I am glad that the intensity of the fight rang so true to you. That is definitely the effect I was going for. =) As for Sam's dreams... You are an incredibly astute reader, for they are, indeed, more than just dreams. =P Thank you so much for reviewing~

**Marsh Queen**- YES! Someone finally got my reference to the IDW Dead Universe! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! I was hoping that someone would pick up on that! 8D I haven't read much of the IDW series, but the Dead Universe and Nemesis Prime were details from that series that I picked up on and wanted to use~ Big credit to you for spotting that and saying something! And you're on such a roll, too; you mentioned the upside down kiss from the first Spiderman movie... I was totally thinking about that kiss when I wrote Chase and Hound's scene! Oh my god, it's like you were reading my mind! XD Thank you, _thank you_ so much for reviewing~!

**Flameshield**- You know that old saying- _it's always darkest before the dawn_, right? Quiet literal for the last chapter, eh? XD I'm glad you think Chase and Hound are an interesting pair. They're an insanely fun pair to write for. =) Thank you so much for reviewing~

**1bloodtempest**- You are the only reader to have mentioned Jack Darby's presence in the chapter, so you get cookies and unicorns! 8D I figured that if so many Transformers universes were going to be thrown into _War Eternal_, then TF:Prime deserved to get thrown into the mix as well. XD Angry fights and loud noises so totally go together! Doors slamming serve a dual purpose- one, they add to the finality of a fight, and two, they let the person who slammed the door work off some excess stress by slamming it in the first place. XD As for the Cybertronians retaining so much of their original selves, they can be that way mostly due to the dampening programs that were installed early in the war. It dampens their emotional responses so they're not completely traumatized, but now their dampened emotions have become the norm and the war dragging out is just wearing them down all over again. Cracks are beginning to show, like in Punch and others. If they were to remove the original dampening programs, they'd be nothing but twitching, writhing balls of agony and nightmares. . As always, you are a doll for taking the time to write such magnificent reviews. Love and hugs to you, my dear~

**Frenzy5150**- Heh, I bet if you told Sam that him acting like typical human jerk was probably an indication of how human he really was, it would probably make his day. XD But you're right, fighting over such little things instead of talking about them like rational beings _is_ such an annoying human trait. . Although, something can be said for the emotional release it offers... ^^; Thank you so much for taking the time to review~

Read, Review, and Enjoy~ ^_^

**May We Never Let Go  
To ****Keep Secrets**

It was nearly noon by the time Mikaela came skidding into the yard on her motorcycle. Her long drive down the empty highways cooled her off somewhat, but much of the fire from the fight was still burning in her veins. The words just kept playing in her head over and over- _You're just a mechanic! You don't have to be here_!- and every time she thought of those words, she got angry all over again. Angry enough to almost turn her motorcycle around and punch Sam in the face.

Unfortunately, Mikaela knew from life experience as a Banes that physical violence would not help to resolve a dispute, even though it would make her feel better.

Flipping the kickstand out for her bike, she left it in the middle of the parking lot of Hot Autobodies, not caring if it was in anybody's way. Blinded by her own rage, she didn't even bother to check who was in the open garage before she graced everyone with her slightly juvenile but completely necessary emotional outburst:

"_What is it about men that makes them all idiots!" _

A long silence followed the outburst.

During the silence, Mikaela finally managed to clear her mind enough to realize who she just screamed at. Raoul was to be expected, since he had been on the schedule for the day. He was currently standing in one corner of the garage, tools in hand and staring at her like she had suddenly turned into a venomous snake. Chase was a little less expected, but then again, since Mikaela had been AWOL for the morning, someone had been needed to fill in for her. The elder Banes woman was currently crouched on top of one of the tables, which had been dragged out into the middle of the floor, and under her was Blaster. In her hands was a long, thin piece of metal that looked like it used to be a coat hanger. Blaster laid facedown on the tabletop, most of the armour on his back removed, although currently he was propped up on his forearms to be able to stare. Carly Walker, Blaster's human friend and fellow radio personality, was also present, standing at the head of the table with a powerful flashlight in hand. And yes, she was staring Mikaela as well.

But that was not the height of her humiliation, though she tragically wished it was.

Hound's hologram was also present in the back of the garage, a heavy crate hefted over his shoulder. His dark brows were arched nearly off his forehead, dark chocolate eyes wide with surprise. Of all the men and pseudo-men in Mikaela's life, he was, by far, the one whose respect meant the most to her. After all, Hound was the closest thing to a father she had.

Her staring must have translated to the Autobot that she expected him to try and answer the _rhetorical_ question. As carefully as he could, Hound set the heavy crate down and eased a cautious smile onto his face. "Ah don't think Ah'm qualified ta answer that question..."

No, he was not qualified. As it stood, Hound technically was not a man nor an idiot.

"Guess that means I'm disqualified, too," Blaster intoned cheerfully.

Automatically, Mikaela's gaze switched to the only actual human male in the vicinity. Raoul, discovering that he was now the sole focus of the young woman's attention, took a step back. Years of being at the Banes' mercy had trained him with the appropriate reflexes for dealing with their occasional unreasonableness.

"Me no speak English," he announced, walking quickly from the garage, up the stairs, into his apartment, and successfully dismissing himself from answering the question.

"Does no one here understand the definition of a _rhetorical question?_" Mikaela exclaimed.

"Maybe if you didn't seem so psychotically intent on finding an answer, you wouldn't terrify all the men and man-shaped things around here," Chase pointed out nonchalantly.

"Why can't you be nice to me?" Mikaela grumbled.

"This _is_ me being nice," Chase replied dryly.

Mikaela wrinkled her noise, looking like she wanted to say something more, but then decided better of the option. Her shoulders drooped, her anger draining out of her faster than she could hold on to it. Now she just felt tired and icky. "You suck, you know right?"

"Tough shit, kid," Chase said, returning her attention to the alien laying face-down beneath her. She crouched over and started prodding his insides with her coat hanger. Blaster said nothing except to make noises of extreme discomfort. Carly tucked her dread locks away from her face, hiked up her falling kilt and leggings, and then added the power of her flashlight to the endeavour.

"Do you even care that I've had the worst morning ever?" Mikaela whined, stomping her foot. Yes, she was twenty-five years old, but she could still act like a kid when she wanted to.

"Do you even care that I had to cover your ass when you should have been _here_ instead of somewhere else having the worst morning ever?" Chase replied without looking up.

Mikaela pursed her lips. "When you put it that way...oops. I screwed up, okay? I'm sorry. I really, _really_ did have a bad morning. I just needed to cool off before I came here."

"Apology _not_ accepted. Get to work and I might consider accepting later," Chase replied, flicking one hand dismissively. "Go on, shoo, get to work."

"Okay, okay, fine, I'm getting to work." She took two steps deeper into the garage, stopped, stomped a foot, and swung around to her aunt. Apparently there was still some pent up frustration that still needed to be expressed, and it wasn't going to wait until later to be vented. "I know you don't care, but you should have heard the things Sam said!"

"I'm sure we're all about to hear it," Blaster mumbled, only to be smacked in the head by Carly's flashlight.

"I can't believe he was such a... such a... _chauvinist_ to my face!" Mikaela gestured wildly in the air. "You wanna know what he called me? A mechanic! I'm just a _mechanic_! He thinks I shouldn't even be in this war! I mean, _come on_! I've been in it since it escalated on Earth! And he thinks he can cut me out of it? Protect me like I'm some princess made of glass? I don't need that crap! I can take care of my self!"

Chase's tar black eyes glanced up for a moment, looking pensive. "You might not want to hear this, but I think the kid had a point."

Mikaela was sure the look on her face must have been pure horror. "Are you _kidding_ me?"

"Look, I'd love to smack the kid around as much as the next person, but I can understand what he meant..." Chase shook her head. "You and me, we _are _just mechanics. That's our job. We're _not_ soldiers. We're not warriors or special ops or anything like that. We don't carry guns or go out into battle. We sit in a dinky garage and fix things, that's all."

"But-!" It was like a slap to the face to hear those words. Pure and utter betrayal!

Chase held up a hand to quiet her niece. "I've worked hard to keep the war out of this garage and out of our house. I don't want no part of it here, and if I can keep you out it too, then I will. You've been caught up in some fights, Mikaela, but you haven't seen _war_ yet. Sam has his reasons to want to keep you safe from that shit, and so do I." Chase had good reasons, too. Afghanistan had messed her up bad in the head. No one can watch a friend step on a land mine and not have nightmares about it for the rest of their life.

After a moment, Chase withdrew her coat hanger from Blaster's frame and settled back on her heels. "Did Sam start the fight?"

"...no," Mikaela admitted stubbornly. Her eyes dropped to the floor, watching the toe of her boot as it scuffed the floor. "I... _might_ have gotten fed up with him hiding things from me. Everyone knows there's something going on with him, but he won't talk to anyone."

"So you got in his face about it?" Chase asked, eyebrow arched.

"Pretty much," Mikaela sighed. Now the regret was starting to sink in, making her feel like an ass.

"Banes family charm at its finest," Blaster chuckled.

"Shut up, dumbass," Chase grunted, scuffing the side of Blaster's head with her foot.

Mikaela jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She spun around to find Hound there, his holographic face staring down at her with a sympathetic smile. It was exactly the kind of sympathy that Mikaela had been looking for and failing to get ever since she skidded on to the property.

"Ya look like ya could use a hug, dearspark," he said, his deep voice resonating warmly in her chest.

"Yes, I could use a hug," Mikaela said sullenly.

When he opened his arms for her, she stubbornly stomped into the embrace and wrapped herself tightly around him. In return, Hound brought his arms around her and held her in a bear hug, rocking her back and forth. Hound's hugs were one of the things that Mikaela had learned she could depend on; he hugged her whether a fight was her fault or someone else's, and he always gave the best hugs of anyone she knew. Whether he was hugging through his hologram or hugged in his true form, he had a way of being so sincere about the hug that you couldn't help but feel _loved_. Mikaela basked in the embrace, happy to sink into the holoform and absorb as much of the comfort as she possibly could.

"Feel better?" Hound murmured.

Mikaela turned her face so that her cheek was pressed into Hound's chest; it was warm, but there was no heartbeat beneath the holographic flesh. "I'll feel better in a minute or two."

"You're such a suck up," Chase snorted.

"You're just jealous," Mikaela sniffed, hugging Hound tighter.

Hound made that funny purring noise he sometimes made, content to stand there for as long as Mikaela needed him to. Chase met Hound's gaze over the top of Mikaela's head. Making sure Mikaela couldn't see her expression, Chase smiled softly for the hologram, glad for the comfort he offered her niece. Where she sometimes lacked in that department, Hound made up for it with all the warmth of his spark. It was a miracle that he could still be so kind after all the millenniums of terrible things he had lived through. Hound returned Chase's smile with a deep one of his own, brushing his cheek to the crown of Mikaela's head. He was lucky he had so much experience as a Guardian at the Youth Sector comforting younglings after tantrums or he wouldn't be half as good as he was at dealing with his humans. Admittedly, he was not brave enough to inform either Chase or Mikaela of that fact, so he simply remained silent and content to hug the youngest Banes female.

With a nod, Chase returned to her work in Blaster's open frame, digging around with the coat hanger. Carly stepped closer, shining the flashlight wherever she thought it needed to be shined. Inside Blaster's body was a collection of metallic bits and pieces that were only vaguely familiar to Chase and completely alien to Carly. There were energon lines snaking through the mess, making their was around circuit boards and metal supports. Hydraulics for Blaster's arms could be seen disappearing beneath the armour still connected to his arms. There were some glowing wires and little lights that blinked. Wherever two parts rubbed against each other, the metal was slick with lubricant as lubricant lines dripped over them to keep all the parts moving smoothly.

His shoulder was the area that Chase concentrated on, trying to dig out the necklace that had fallen into the Autobot's rotator cuff. Every time he moved, he only managed to twist it deeper. It was just a stupid, cheap piece of jewellery that Carly liked to wear- a simple chain with skulls and bats dangling from it. One moment, the necklace had been around Carly's neck as she was leaning over Blaster's shoulder. The next moment, Blaster had been cycling the vents in his neck and the necklace got sucked in.

This type of incident was, unfortunately, not uncommon for the Cybertronians. Earth had far too many things lying around that were small enough to get sucked into their vents- rocks, grass, leaves, garbage... shoes, pieces of clothing, _jewellery_. The more mundane the object, the less embarrassing it was to have someone like Ratchet fish the offending object out. The more ridiculous an object was, the more likely a bot was to slink off to Hot Autobodies for a human to dig it out because they didn't want any of their own kind to know.

While Chase dug around, Raoul finally decided to come out of hiding, reappearing in the garage looking sheepish for his earlier retreat. In his hands was a tray of sandwiches and apple slices as a peace offering so he didn't get razed by everyone. Seeing as Chase and Carly were still busy, he went to Mikaela first to offer the food.

"Are you feeling any better now?"he asked carefully, watching Mikaela with cautious dark eyes.

"Yeah, I'm feeling better," Mikaela said, disentangling herself from Hound's embrace. She kissed the hologram on the cheek lightly before selecting two sandwiches and a couple of apple slices from the tray. It was only then that she realized how hungry she was, having had only a glass of orange juice that morning. The sandwich was sweet and dripping in her mouth, lathered with peanut-butter and honey. It wasn't her favourite kind of sandwich, but she was hungry enough not to care.

"Sorry for cornering you earlier," she intoned between bites.

Raoul shrugged, a wry smirk curling his lips. "I'm used to it by now."

There came a shout of victory as Chase finally managed to untangle the necklace from Blaster's innards. It came out in a terrible mess, the chain knotted, the bats and skulls that dangled from the chain now crushed or missing. Nevertheless, Carly whooped happily, taking the necklace and hugging it to her chest, never minding the black smears of grease that appeared on her Metallica t-shirt.

"Glad to have that out of me," Blaster sighed, carefully sitting up and rotating his shoulder.

Chase jumped off the table and started gathering the different sections of Blaster's armour. "You might want to go see Tungsten about your rotator cuff. I think I might have scratched some of the friction-resistant covering off when I was digging around in there."

"I'll get him to apply some new stuff when I see him," Blaster assured, taking his armour from Chase and beginning to snap it back into place. Larger pieces had to be screwed on and others had to be aligned on their hinges, but the smaller pieces were easily attached and detached through automatic snaps.

Mikaela watched the process with interest, always fascinated by the Cybertronians' robotic bodies. They were so different from everything else on Earth; they all looked unique, their insides and their outsides special to each frame. She loved every opportunity she got to peek inside them and learn how they worked. Microbots were her favourite to work with because they were so small. She could take them apart with the tools she had in her own garage. Working with bots as big as Ratchet and Ironhide was good if she wanted to stick her head inside and see everything, but microbots allowed her to hold their parts in her hands.

She was rudely snapped from her reverie by a set of fingers snapping in her face. Chase was there, one eyebrow arched expectantly. She didn't need to say anything for Mikaela to know that she had to get to work or risk the wrath of her aunt. Quickly as she could, she jumped into her overalls and started to clean up the mess that Blaster's treatment had left behind. Blaster was kind enough to push the table back into place against the wall, doing so with ease when it would have taken four humans to do the same work.

Carly wandered out and started her little Toyota iQ. In one hand was a sandwich she happily gobbled down and with the other she waved to Blaster. "We gotta get back to finish our show. I don't know how long Eject and Rewind can impersonate us."

"They're fine. They know what they're doing," Blaster assured, fully confident in the abilities of his ex-symbiotes. They were easily excitable, but dependable when it really mattered.

"Am I driving you back, or are you driving yourself back?"

"I feel like driving myself." Blaster transformed into his alt mode, which was still Cybertronian. It could be described as the body of a motorcycle without wheels. Where the wheels should have been, there were glowing generators that allowed the microbot to hover in place. Although it was an instinctual imperative for Cybertronians to seek out a form that would help them blend in on an alien planet, Blaster had failed to find an appropriate form that fit his size. He was stuck in his Cybertronian form whether he liked it or not.

"Cool." Carly turned out of the parking lot and went bumping off into the desert, heading for the main road.

Blaster circled once around Chase. "Thanks for your help."

"No prob, just get out of here," Chase laughed, giving the Autobot a shove. He revved his engine and took off like a streak of red lightning. As soon as the Autobot was gone, Chase reached over and dragged Mikaela into a hug. "Good thing you're worth all the trouble you cause," she said.

"The same thing could be said for you," Mikaela laughed, going up on her tiptoes to kiss her aunt on the cheek.

Raoul smartly looked away from the family moment, choosing to invest his attention in the sexy Ford Mustang that one of the EDC agents had dropped off an hour ago. All it needed was an oil change and some quick other checkups, but it was still a treat to admire a car that was so handsome.

Hound made a noise like he was clearing his throat, reluctant to interrupt anything. When he finally got the Banes women's attention, he held up a sheet of paper with what looked like lists of items and numbers printed on it. His brows were drawn down in a slight frown. "Have ya heard from that Los Angeles warehouse ya ordered from?"

Chase pushed away from Mikaela, going over to check the inventory paper. "No, can't say I have." She looked over at Raoul and Mikaela, who both shrugged in the negative that they had not heard from the warehouse either.

"That's strange," Hound said, turning around to wander into the back of the shop again where most of their inventory was stored. He liked to do inventory when he could; he was the best for the job when he could take one look at a crate of parts and known exactly what was inside and how many of it. If there was something "strange" to be found, he'd be the first to know about it. "It's been a couple of weeks, but the parts haven't shown up yet. Ah thought they might have gotten lost back here, but Ah can't seem ta find them."

"Lost in the mail?" Chase offered.

"We should probably give the place a call to make sure they haven't forgotten ta send your order," Hound said.

"I'll do it!" Mikaela shouted from the front of the shop, happy to have some task that would make up for her earlier MIA session. Shuffling around the beaten wooden desk set near the front of the garage, she hauled out a call book bursting at the seams with contact numbers. Most of the numbers were, unfortunately, scratched out. Some distributors got a little nervous when they realized the Autobots were attached to Hot Autobodies; if they got too antsy, they'd refuse future service. It wasn't out of spite, but out of concern for their lives and businesses. They only wanted to protect themselves, hoping that in disassociating from the Autobots it would keep them safe from all the other insane stuff that was happening. Mikaela didn't blame them for wanting to protect their livelihoods, it was simply damned inconvenient for her own business.

"Which warehouse is it?" she asked, scanning through the lists.

"Look it up under 'A' for asshole," Chase replied.

"That _can't _be what it's called," Mikaela snorted incredulously.

"No, but the guy on the phone was an asshole to me," Chase grumbled. "The warehouse is called Angel Parts."

"Sounds gang-related," Raoul murmured warily.

"Ah checked it out already and it's a clean business as far as Ah can tell," Hound assured.

Mikaela rolled her eyes, finding the number and dialling it. It didn't take long to decide that Chase had been justified in listing the number under Asshole. The man who answered was immediately abrasive over the phone, not in a harried sort of way but simply an inherent gruffness that spoke of an anti-social attitude. This introduction only served to re-spark Mikaela's previously acidic mood. She tried to be polite in enquiring about her order, to which the man, replied in a non-too-polite tone that he was going to need the order numbers. Once given, Mikaela could hear the clacking of computer keys as the man searched through his computer logs. As he did so, he did not cover the mouthpiece of the phone properly while speaking with his colleagues; Mikaela definitely heard the comment on her being female, supposing that she was the secretary, and didn't know what she was asking for. That set Mikaela off, deciding that she didn't need manners to deal with the guy if he was going to be all sexist like that.

When the Angel Parts employee finally got back to her, their subsequent exchange devolved into a thinly veiled verbal assault on each other. Through the griping and snarking, Mikaela was informed that the proprietor of Angel Parts was no longer interested in dealing with Hot Autobodies out of concern for Angel Parts' own integrity. Then he made a comment regarding Mikaela not being able to understand the intricacies of automotive business, and perhaps there was a [male] mechanic in the shop that he could explain things to. That, of course, did not go over very well with Mikaela.

The exchange was thus ended with:

"_Fine_! If you're going to be such an asshole about sending the damn order, than I'm going to come down there myself and pick it up! Maybe I'll kick your ass while I'm at it! Douche bag!"

She slammed the phone down into its cradle so hard she cracked the plastic covering on the back.

"Told you the guy was an asshole," Chase said.

Mikaela scrubbed her hands over her face. "That just proves how much men are_ idiots!_ Now I have to drive all the way to Los Angeles to get the stupid stuff!"

"Look at it this way- at least you'll have time away from here. You won't have to see Sam for at least a day or two," Chase offered with a shrug.

"What am I going to drive, though? I can't take my bike and I don't want to take the tow truck. What if you need it while I'm gone?" Mikaela sighed.

"Ah'll take ya," Hound offered kindly. "Ah have a couple orns off, so it won't be no trouble."

Chase looked disgruntled for a moment, opening her mouth to object. Hound deserved some time to himself as much as anyone else. She was silenced when the hologram took his hand into hers and squeezed.

"Ah don't mind," he said. "And Ah'll still be back with a few days ta spare."

"All right," Chase relented. "Mickey, go pack a bag and leave in the morning, bright and early. The sooner you both leave, the sooner you'll be back."

Mikaela walked over to hug both of them, grateful to have a family like them. "You two are the best."

Chase hugged her niece back. "Don't get all lovey on me now, kid. As soon as you get back, I'm going to work you to the bone."

"Looking forward to it," Mikaela laughed. Yep, she loved her family.

* * *

It was unusually dark on the top floor of the apartment complex Miles lived in, with "dark" meaning that is was basically pitch black except for the slivers of light that crept out from under the doors lining the hall. Miles had the advantage of having one eye that could see in the dark, so he had no trouble navigating his way around. No matter the convenience of his Cybertronian eye, he was still intrigued by the darkness in the first place.

He tried the light switch and nothing happened. A glance up revealed that all the light bulbs in the hall had all exploded out of their sconces. Not just fizzled out like they would at the end of their lives, but exploded like a star turning super nova. Black burn marks stayed on the walls like dirty halos as a testament to the bulbs' violent deaths.

Miles glanced down at the video game he had been planning to exclaim over to Sam the moment he got a hold of his best friend, and then he decided to tuck it into his back pocket. There was a proper time and place for video games, and this was not one of them. He stretched up on his tiptoes and felt the wall around the sconces. Little shards of glass were embedded in the wallpaper, pricking at the pads of his fingers. When he pulled away, his fingertips came away dirty with a thin layer of soot. His Cybertronian eye picked up on lingering radiation specific to Allspark activity.

"Oh Sam..." Miles sighed, biting his lip. His immediate concern went to whatever set off his best friend badly enough to do so much damage. Jogging down the hall until he came to Sam's apartment, he knocked loudly. "Sam, it's me. You okay?" No answer came, so he assumed that he was being ignored. It wouldn't be the first time Sam ever ignored him. Luckily, Miles was nothing if not annoyingly persistent when he wanted to be. He knocked again, louder this time. "Come on, dude, let me in. I know it was you who messed with the lights out here." Still no answer. "Fine, be that way. I'm coming in anyways."

He pulled out his set of keys and found the spare key Sam had given him in case of emergencies. Miles deemed this an emergency, so used the key without guilt.

"I'm coming in now," Miles announced as the door swung open. So far so good; nothing came flying at his head. "If you're naked or something, I suggest pants, 'cause I'm not going away. Sam? Seriously, dude, where are you?"

Standing just within the front of the apartment, he noticed how eerily quiet the place was. Not a single thing stirred. No sounds. No lights were on. Miles checked to make sure the light fixtures still had intact light bulbs in them, which they did. He sniffed the air, but didn't detect any smells of dinner if Sam had cooked something for the evening. The apartment didn't look like anyone had been home for a couple of hours.

Just to be thorough, Miles peeked into the bedroom. It was empty. The only thing of interest in there was the melted clock, which he rightly guessed was Sam's doing. Like Mikaela and many others, he was aware of Sam's increasing problems with keeping control of the power inside him, and seeing the evidence before him now only increased his concern. He needed to find Sam, and he needed to do it _now_.

Backing out of the apartment and re-locking the door, Miles dug around for his iPhone and dialled up Sam's office number. He didn't get an answer, so he tried Sam's cell phone and still got no answer. His anxiety ramped up a little higher, nervousness making his skin feel jittery. He called up Mikaela and asked if she knew where Sam was. All he got was a low growl and a "_No_" before she hung up on him. _Okay..._ Such an answer probably meant the two of them were fighting again. Not necessarily a new development between them, since they had fights like clockwork, but it probably only served to exacerbate Sam's stressed condition.

Miles decided to try his last option, which was generally his _dues ex machina_ option. Blaster answered the call halfway through the first ring.

"_Rock star headquarters, how may I rock your world today?"_

Miles had a good laugh before he got down to business. "I need a trace on Sam's position if he's on base. It's nothing important or anything, I'm just wondering where he went off to."

"Ah, that's going to be a problem..." Blaster sighed. "I've been trying to lock on to him for the last hour, but I think he's purposely scrambling his own bio-signature."

"What about Prowl and Jazz?"

"Managed to give them the slip," replied the Autobot.

"Damn." Sam gave both ninja-bots the slip? That was pretty damn impressive, though a little frustrating for the people looking for him.

"I don't blame him, really," Blaster continued airily. "He probably just needs a little time to cool off. Saw Mikaela this morning and she was pretty worked up."

Miles grimaced. "They were fighting, weren't they?"

"Yep."

"Well, that sucks," Miles sighed. "Since you can't help me, I'll talk to you later. I'll go look for Sam the old fashioned way." Hanging up, Miles took the elevator to the main floor and hitched a ride with someone into the main hub of the base. Standing on the sidewalk of the main road, he turned in a circle to take in the possibilities around him.

"If I were a cranky human with the power of a freakish alien artifact inside me, where would I go to sulk like a little emo kid...?"

Drawing on the power of Spock, Miles thought about the situation as logically as possible. Sam didn't own a car, so the farthest he could have possibly gone on his own would be to the fringes of the base. At the very least, he was within walking distance. If he had gone to all the trouble of scrambling his bio-signature and giving Jazz and Prowl the slip, it meant he definitely did not want to be found. His usual hiding places would have been checked already, not that he would have been in any of them. If Sam were looking to steal himself away in a place that no one would ever find him, then he would have to go to the _last_ place that anyone would ever think to look for him in.

Knowing Sam as well as he did, Miles thought of all the places Sam disliked the most. What he came up with were all the places that reminded Sam that he was not quite as human as everyone else. Where was the least human place on base? Underground. It was the last place that anyone would figure a human would go to. And the one place that Sam would avoid most down there would be the hangar where the cybernetic suits were kept when they weren't being tested by their human pilots. No matter how big a part Sam played in the developed of the bio-interfacial cybernetic suits, they made him feel more inhuman than any other device on base.

It would be the perfect place for him to hide.

Deciding his course of action, Miles looked around himself to make sure that no one was paying him more attention then he needed. As discretely as possible, he slipped between two buildings and wandered off towards one of the large lifts the Autobots used like elevators. He gave one last cursory glance around to make sure no one was watching before he slipped into the shadows of the cavernous structure. Sam didn't have a problem operating the lifts because all he needed to do was touch one and he could make it do what he wanted. Miles did not have that advantage, but he did have something that normal humans didn't have. He absolutely _hated_ doing things like this, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

From around his neck he pulled off a long length of what looked like braided black thread with the ends disappearing into a charm with Cybertronian glyphs on it. Although it looked like a piece of jewellery, it was actually a disguised cable that enabled him to hook up to electronic devices in a similar manner to humans who had interfacial ports implanted in them. Unfortunately, in Miles' case, he didn't have the convenience of ports on his body. He just had his eye.

"I hate this part," he grumbled, inserting one end of the cable into the microbot level panel nearest the ground, taking the other end of the cable and lifting it to his face. He felt his cybernetic eye whirring and readjusting in his socket, forming the port that the needle of the cable would be inserted into. He felt the slow slide of the metal enter his cybernetic prosthesis, unable to suppress the full-body shudder that followed. A sharp burn in the back of his skull flared up where the wires to the implant connected with his occipital lobe and the rest of his brain. He concentrated on the thought_ DOWN_. The burn in his skull flared hotter, then settled into a mild headache. Shortly following that, the lift lurched and began its decent downward.

Just in case some stray Autobots were wandering around when the lift touched down, Miles disconnected with the panel and pressed himself against one of the walls. He braced for the jarring halt, then peeked out around the corner to see if anyone was coming. The coast looked clear. Secretly humming the Mission Impossible theme song to himself, he darted out of the lift and into an alley between two gigantic buildings. He adjusted his Cybernetic eye to see at maximum efficiency in the dim light, and then pulled out the eye patch he kept handy on him to wear when he got headaches from the sight disparities between his eyes. He slipped the patch over his human eye and got to work sleuthing through the shadows of the City of Giants.

There was nothing he could do to hide his bio-signature, since he did not have the convenience of summoning an electromagnetic field at will like Sam did, so Miles simply did his best to stay away from any Cybertronian who might be lurking around. If a light was on in one of the buildings, he stayed the hell away from it. Knowing that a transformer's sense of hearing was also damnably good, he tried not to breathe too loudly, creeping along as quietly as his lime green high tops would allow. Whenever he thought it was safe, he pulled out his iPhone and checked the map of the city he downloaded years ago for a "just in case" scenario if he ever found himself sneaking around underground. Like now.

Now that he was running around the alien city all by himself, it was actually really intimidating. It never occurred to him how huge the city was. He was used to buildings being bizarrely huge to fit the Cybertronians above ground, but down here there was no limitation to their design. Each building became more alien than the next. There were a couple of signs hanging around, each written in Cybertronian so Miles could not read them. The city was way too quiet to be comfortable. Slinking through the alleys between the towering buildings, the shadows looked too dark and the whole city around him was too quiet. How anyone could live down here and not go crazy, he didn't know.

Through the soles of his shoes and right up through his spine, he felt the earth tremble with the immense weight of a couple tons of metal coming down on it at regular intervals. Someone was walking his way. Every muscle in his body locked up tight, even his lungs freezing. He was thankfully hidden in the shadow of the mouth of an alley, but the light of his cybernetic eye might attract someone, so he shifted it to its regular form as a human-looking eye. The world turned darker around him, giving him a chill down his back as a tall, dark shape came into sight. By the shape of him, Miles recognized the mech as Ironhide, his glowing optics and horned head making him look like a titan demon in the dim light. The weapons specialist passed by at a slow gait, then stopped mid-step. His horned head swung around, optics narrowed in suspicion.

Miles felt his heart stop in his chest.

_'Please don't scan the area! Please don't scan the area! Please don't scan the area!' _

There came a low, rumbling growl from the mech as his stormy gaze lingered. Forever passed before he looked away, resuming his walk to wherever he was going.

Miles didn't dare move for several minutes after that. When he figured it was safe, he plastered his hand over his mouth to muffle the shaky breath of fear that came out. This was even more exhilarating than playing a scary video game. Even though he knew he was in no danger down here, there was still something extremely terrifying about sneaking around the Cybertronians' private world. He was human and this was their private sanctuary; it was wrong of him to be invading their space like this, but Sam was worth it.

Checking his phone again, Miles zipped down the right alleys while praying to his Good Lady Goddess that he didn't get caught. Hell, he prayed that he didn't _die_. Not even twenty minutes later, his praying payed off. The door to the hangar finally appeared through the gloom, looking as foreboding as the gateway to hell. It soared high up into the shadows of the ceiling at nearly 40 feet tall, the scuffed metal contrasted by the craggy rock surrounding it. Only a single light hung from the distant ceiling, a bare light bulb that swung eerily in midair, too high for the light to reach the ground.

Closer to the ground was a smaller door meant for little bots. The top of the door frame stood at only a bare 12 feet, if even that. Miles took several deep breaths before darting out from the safety of the shade he was in, crossing the wide lane to the small door. It wasn't an automatic door, so he was forced to pull as hard as he could to drag the heavy slab open a couple of inches, then forced his body to wriggle through the narrow opening. His skull felt like it compressed half an inch and his belt buckle was permanently imprinted on his lower stomach. Once on the other side, he dragged the door shut.

Inside the hangar was even darker than outside. Absolutely no light permeated this inner sanctum of the earth. The cavernous space was strangely lukewarm, with the thin air pungent with the smell of dirt. Because he could not see a single thing around him, Miles was given a sudden sense of vertigo. The walls could go on forever, or the floor could drop down into an abyss before him and he wouldn't know. He felt his heart skip a beat when he stared into the darkness and discovered someone staring back. Two pinpricks of blue light focused on him like lasers. It took a moment to realize those lights were Sam's eyes.

"Sam?" Miles called out as loudly as he dared, scared to speak in a normal voice in case he awakened anything lurking in the dark. Even in a staged whisper, his voice echoed in the hangar. Being in absolute darkness, there was no light for his cybernetic eye to take in for him to see by. He was flying completely blind, except to be guided by the dots of light that served as Sam's eyes.

"Miles?" came the hoarse reply, sounding as if it were coming from a thousand different directions. "What are you doing down here?"

"Looking for you." Something ran across the top of his foot, skittering away on quick little feet. Miles forced himself not to think of what it could have been. He was not necessarily afraid of the dark, but he did happen to believe that things existed in dark places that humans had no right to disturb, and that gave him a healthy wariness for whatever could be around.

"You shouldn't have come down here," Sam said.

"You want me to leave?"

There was a heavy silence, and then a soft, _"No." _

Upon coming closer to the pinpricks of blue light, Miles realized that Sam was extremely high off the ground.

"I'm sitting in my suit," said Sam, staring down at the little light that served as Miles' single cybernetic eye. It wasn't as bright or as blue as his own eyes.

"Oh," Miles said with no small amount of trepidation. "Can I come up?"

"Sure," Sam sighed.

Having never rock climbed in the dark before, it was a whole new experience to try to climb up Sam's cybernetic suit without any idea of where he was putting his hands and feet. The metal should have been cold beneath his touch, but it was lukewarm like the rest of the hangar. Even though the air was thin, he felt like he was being pressed in on from all sides. His ears popped from the pressure. He just about jumped out of his own skin when a solid hand suddenly wrapped around his wrist and started dragging him to the side, until he realized it was Sam helping him into the cockpit of the suit.

To his surprise, Miles realized that the darkness was oddly thinner in this small area. It was light enough to allow him to manoeuvre around until he could sit on the portion of the open cockpit that folded out. Searching around for Sam, Miles noted at his friend sat in the seat tucked into the chest of the suit. A small thrill quickened his pulse when he realized the darkness was thinnest around Sam, a blue shine hanging in the air around him. It was so dim that Miles could not see it if he stared directly at it. Only if he turned his head a certain way and tried not to look for it did he see the blue lightness hanging in the air. He figured it was his eyes playing tricks on him the way it looked like faint designs were glowing beneath Sam's skin.

"Did you tell anyone where I am?" Sam asked quietly.

"No, of course not," Miles assured. He thought he heard Sam sigh in relief. "Are you okay, Sam?"

Again there was a long silence, followed by another hoarse, "_No._"

Something about hearing that single word spoken in such a shattered way turned Miles' heart over in his chest. He hadn't heard Sam sound so... _anguished_ since the days after he learned he had the Allspark inside him. Those were dark days back then, especially for Sam, whose sanity had been held on the brink for nearly too long. All the man wanted was to be _human_. He never seemed to catch a break anymore.

"Hey," Miles croaked. "I'm here." His hand searched out through the darkness until he found another hand, squeezing it. Beneath his palm, he felt Sam's hand trembling. Tiny shivers that raced across the skin, the kind of shivers someone got from too much adrenaline or anxiety in their system. It only made Miles' concern ramp up another notch. "Sam, you can talk to me. What's going on?"

"I..." There was a shaky breath, then an exhalation that rattled unsteadily. Those glowing blue eyes shone too brightly in the dark, illuminating parts of Sam's face. He looked like a corpse in the unnatural light, or a ghost.

"If I tell you something, will you keep it a secret?" Sam asked.

Miles managed to nod his head. "You know me, Sam. My lips are sealed."

Almost like they were back in grade school, telling each other every secret they possessed. Thick as thieves they were, their absolute trust thrust into each other because for the longest time it had only been the two of them. Sam used to confide in Miles his secret love for the beautiful Mikaela Banes, having loved her from the moment he set eyes on her. He would sigh about her endlessly, despairing the fact that she didn't even know he was alive. He'd talk about his dreams of being an astronaut, and laugh about the things his Uncle Charles gave him in secret. In return, Miles would whisper to Sam about the aliens he thought were living next door, or the monster that really did live under his bed. He told Sam that he could sometimes do _real_ magic, and that the woman on the next block who sometimes gave him oatmeal cookies had no face and her feet were on backwards.

Silly little secrets that all boys had.

This time, the secret felt a little bigger than a grade school crush.

Sam closed his eyes, nodding his head. Miles had to look away because he could see the light from Sam's eyes glowing through the eyelids. He was close enough to see the wriggling veins black underneath the skin, like worms. When he looked to the side, he could see the faded glow of blue lines ghosting under Sam's skin. Sam finally opened his eyes again, his arms wrapping around himself. Whatever he had to say, it obviously was difficult to get the words out.

"I... I've been dreaming for the last couple of years, but they haven't been dreams."

"Okay," Miles said softly, accepting the statement easily. If there was one person in the world that Sam could go to in order to admit something that no one else in their right mind would believe, it would be Miles Lancaster.

"I think there are..._Others_ out there that are trying to..." His voice trailed off into silence. It was quiet for a while, except for the sound of ragged breathing. "I think they're trying to tell me things."

"Okay," Miles said again, because there was nothing else for him to say. There was such broken desperation in Sam's voice that Miles ached for his friend. He physically felt his heart hurt just to hear the croaking words coming out of Sam's mouth. He reached for Sam's hand again and squeezed it. "How long have you been dreaming like this?"

"Since Mission City," Sam said.

"Eight years," Miles murmured needlessly.

"Since I became the Allspark," Sam whispered.

For a long time, silence laid heavily in the darkness between them.

Sam blinked slowly, blue light winking in and out. "Last night, I dreamt that I was in the desert."

"Here?" Miles wondered.

"Somewhere else," Sam murmured with a shake of his head. "The sands turned black, and the sky above opened up into... I don't know what it opened up into. It was so dark. And there were things inside that were staring at me..." His voice choked off into silence again. Miles dared to glance into Sam's eyes and discovered that they had turned glassy with fear. "When I dream, there are always things staring at me. I'm always _watched_... but this time it was worse. I've never felt eyes like those on me before. I couldn't tell if they were dead or alive... There was just so many of them. It was horrible."

What was horrible was the sound of Sam on the verge of tears, his voice shaking with contained sobs. He held himself tighter, trying to keep himself together, but it wasn't working. It had taken everything he had to keep himself together for the day, but the moment he could go home, he lost the strength to keep going. Every defence crumbled. Fear let loose in his system like an acid, eating him up- blood, bone, and body. He was stripped raw from the inside, bleeding internally from the nightmare that had been real to him. _So real._ He searched for Miles' solid form in the gloom, wanting to take comfort in the strange anchor that his best friend had become. Miles, who believed in everything, denied nothing, and would never tell Sam that he was crazy.

"Is that what you dream of? Things watching you?" Miles asked softly.

Sam jerked his head in a stiff nod. "It's different every time. Sometimes I'm chased, and other times I'm standing in the middle of deserts. I never know what's going to happen. I'm afraid to go to sleep at night now. This time, Nemesis was there. But he... he wasn't just Cybertronian. He kept changing form... each time it just got worse and worse. I can't even describe it. There were just so many things..." Thinking about it was enough to make him want to vomit, his stomach churning sickly, his throat burning. Even just sitting there in the dark, he felt those eyes on him, the dream coming back to him with terrifying clarity. The darkness grew darker. The air colder. The stench of death and rot seemed to leak into reality from his nightmares, stinging his nose.

"Is that all?" Miles wondered carefully. He didn't know what else to ask. What could he say? Should he reach out and wrap his arms around his friend? Or was he supposed to sit still and let Sam finish his recounting of his nightmare.

"No," Sam whispered. "He was walking towards me, and somehow in the dream I _knew_ he was from the opening in the sky." He took a deep breath, rocking back and forth slowly. "And then he looked at me. He _looked _at me, Miles. He knew exactly who I was, and it was like he was telling me that he was coming for me. Nothing was going to get in his way. I've never been so scared... Just the way he looked at me, I wanted to _die_."

Miles went to his knees, his arms gripping the sides of Sam's arms, holding him as tightly as he could while Sam trembled worse than before. Pure, unadulterated terror coursed through the man, searing straight through his skin and into Miles' body. It was almost like Sam was convulsing, but not quite. The very touch of his skin was like fire, so hot that it should have been glowing red like a brand. Gods, how could Sam have suffered so long and not tell someone about it? How had he survived so long with his sanity intact? What kind of friends did Sam have if they didn't even notice what kind of trauma he was suffering through night after night?

Agonizing minutes passed while Miles waited for Sam to calm down. Finally, the last of Sam's strength snapped like an elastic band stretched to its limit. He went limp in his seat, sagging forward so that Miles had to hold him upright or he would have fallen out. Gently as he could, he eased Sam out of the seat and brought him to the cramped floor of the cybernetic suit's cockpit. They were both grown men too big to fit into the narrow space, but somehow he managed to fit himself first and bring Sam into a tight hug. A stupid hug felt far too inadequate to make up for whatever horrors Sam had endured, but Miles held him as fiercely as he dared, feeling his own body shake. He knew to the depths of his soul that every word Sam had spoken was _true_.

"Miles, say something," Sam begged quietly.

"What do you want me to say?" Miles wondered carefully, his arms tightening around his best friend.

Sam shrugged weakly. "Tell me what my dreams mean."

"I'm a witch, Sam, not a dream reader," Miles murmured, almost trying to make a joke. Unfortunately, Sam didn't catch the humour. He sighed deeply, continuing to let Miles hold him. Finally, Miles was forced to say, "If you want to know... I think Nemesis is warning you that he's coming for you."

Sam nodded his head, his face buried in Miles' neck. His hot, stale breath dampened the exposed skin there, making it sticky and wet. Tears slicked his cheeks. His arms felt so weak as they came around Miles; there was no bone in them, no muscle. Barely any substance at all. All he wanted to do was hold Miles and have himself be held in return, but every drop of strength had vacated his body. He was finally at his limit after years of being worn down, eroded from the inside. They were in the dark where no one would ever find them, so Sam let himself be hugged by his best friend, wishing that it would be enough to banish his demons.

"I'm so tired of this, Miles," Sam sighed.

"I know you are." He kissed the side of Sam's head, his lips tickled by short, dark hair.

"I want it to end."

"I wish it would end, too. You don't deserve this, Sam. You're too good a man to deserve any of this," Miles sighed. "But nothing can last forever, right? The Autobots will figure something out... we just gotta wait until someone figures something out."

Sam tightened his hold, cinching his arms closer around Miles. He sucked back tears and snot, and then whispered in a broken tone- "What if I didn't have long to wait?"

Ice slid down the back of Miles neck, freezing him from his spine outward. His voice cracked as he asked, "What do you mean?" Deep down, he already knew the answer. No one said words like that without a certain meaning behind them. A meaning that Miles didn't even want to think about. Anything but _that._ Not Sam. Anyone but Sam.

Sam backed up a little so that they could see each others' eyes. Each of their gazes were unnatural-Sam's from a powerful artifact granting him powers no mortal should have. Miles' from the eye he had been given after a shard of glass had pierced his real eye. No matter the change to their eyes, the men behind the eyes were still the same. Still best friends to the bitter end, willing to tell each other all their secrets.

"Remember how I said my dreams tell me things?"

"Yeah."

Sam's bitter smile was illuminated by the light of his eyes. "Miles... I'm dying."

Bile burned up the back of Miles' throat. He shut his eyes tight and bowed his head, taking a deep, burning breath in through his nose. He was choked with the odours of dirt, of himself and Sam, and a deeper scent that he could not name. He had known what was coming, but even knowing didn't dull the sting. Sam wasn't allowed to die. He was too young. Too special.

"Miles..."

"How?" Miles croaked. _How are you dying? _

Sam seemed to know exactly what he was asking. "Humans aren't meant to hold things like the Allspark inside them. It's too powerful. The power's been burning me up inside, burning away my soul." He choked on the words, nearly crying. He steeled himself, forcing back the tears. "I was told that there's not much left."

The bottom of Miles' stomach dropped out. "Is there anything that can be done...?"

Sam thought back to looking into the devil's eyes and seeing no hope for him there. "No."

"_Oh, Sam..."_

"You promised me you wouldn't tell anyone."

Miles shook his head, feeling the hot slide of tears down his cheeks. He couldn't break his own promises, but he could beg Sam to reconsider. "You have to tell someone, Sam."

"I did," he croaked.

"Someone other than me," Miles said, sounding like he was begging.

Sam immediately turned his head away. "_I can't_."

"You can't be dying and tell no one about it. You can't lay this at my feet and expect me to to go like nothing happened," Miles sobbed, finally breaking down. "I'll hold every secret of yours, Sam, but not this one. Gods, not this one." His hands held Sam's arms so hard, he knew he was bruising the skin. He couldn't let go, though. He was crying, and so was Sam. "You are my best friend, Sam. The best friend I have ever had. I can't watch you die alone with no one knowing. At least tell Mikaela."

"_No." _

"You have to!"

"I can't do that to her." From the corner of Sam's eye, a tear welled. It caught in the light of his eyes, sparkling bright electric blue, then began to slide down his cheek. Against his skin, it stayed electric blue. It wasn't just a tear of salt water, but of energon. Like a shooting star, it crept down his face, burning out before the drop fell from his chin. That's how far gone he was. He couldn't even cry like a human anymore.

"Please, Miles, _please_ do this for me. I need someone to know. I want that someone to be you." More glowing tears like shooting stars raced down his face, burning out just as they reached his chin. "I know this is selfish, but I don't want their worry, or their pity, or anything else. I just want to be treated like a human for however long I have left."

Miles hunched forward, burying his face in his hands. "Why did you have to tell _me_?"

"You're the one who came looking for me," Sam said quietly, using his shoulder to wipe at his face. The cloth of his shirt hissed as it came in contact with his energon tears. A hole appeared, the edges smouldering as the cloth burned away. Sam barely even reacted, so emotionally distraught already that he had nothing left to give. He could only turn his gaze to Miles and beg, "Please don't think I'm selfish for this."

Miles touched Sam's face, avoiding the energon tears. It would do him no good to have his palm burned off. He brushed his shaking fingertips against the too hot skin, and now he realized the heat wasn't from pent up emotion but from Allspark radiation pulsing beneath his skin. "I could never think of you as selfish," he murmured weakly.

Sam choked back a sob, gripping Miles' hand to his face.

Miles titled his head with a watery smile, barely able to see through his own tears. "Nothing could ever change the way I feel about you."

"...you're not going to tell me that you love me, are you?" Sam asked warily, sniffing.

Miles stifled a wet laugh. "Totally platonic, bro."

"I don't know if I'm relieved or not," Sam coughed.

Miles laughed again around a mouthful of phlegm. Part of the reason he loved Sam was his sense of humour. He sat up a little straighter in the confined space, gulping back the thick lump that had formed in this throat. "Hey, do you remember eighth grade, when it came out that I was a Wiccan?"

Sam nodded weakly, confused by the sudden topic change. He remembered all the days he walked Miles home the long way so no kid had the chance to sneak up on them. Days when Miles would show up with toilet paper shoved up his nose to stop the bleeding, or a ring around his eye where a bruise was forming. All those days when Miles would just smile and say it wasn't the kids' fault. They were just scared of what they didn't understand.

"Remember the day when those kids stole all my text books and burned them in front of me?" Miles asked. "I couldn't prove that they did it, so I had to pay for the books myself. They were the new, expensive kind with the fancy hard covers and shiny pages. But I didn't have the money to pay because mom was still in nursing school and we didn't have money for anything. Do you remember what you did for me?" He started crying fresh again, unable to help it.

This time, Sam shook his head. He didn't remember this at all.

Miles swiped at his face with his shirt sleeve. "I showed up on your front lawn bawling my eyes out 'cause these kids burnt my books, and you looked at me and said 'stay right there.' You turned around, went in your house, and when you came back out, you had a metal box in your hands. You gave me that box and said 'I hope that it's enough.' When I opened box, it was every single cent you had saved up from your birthdays and Christmases and everything else. I tried to give it back to you, but all you did was smile and say 'it's okay.' _It's okay_. I bet you don't remember how much was in the box?"

"How much?" Sam asked, barely a broken whisper.

"Two hundred and nineteen dollars and seventy-three cents," Miles said, the number burned into his soul since the day he counted the money. "It was exactly the amount of money I needed to pay for my books._ Exactly _theamount, right down to the pennies. And you want to know what else? You never asked for that money back. Not in the ten years since you gave it to me did you ever once ask me to pay you back."

"I don't understand..." Sam murmured, his eyes downcast to his hands.

Miles gripped Sam again, staring into his eyes with burning, water-glazed eyes of his own. "_That's_ the kind of man I will always think of you as, Sam. The man who's willing to give everything of himself and never ask for anything in return. You're the most unselfish person I know."

"_Oh."_ If someone could physically feel their heart break, Sam felt it then. He felt the crack and ultimate shatter, his whole body crumbling as he found himself crying like he hadn't cried in eight years since Mission City. Miles was crying just as hard, his arms locked like a vice around Sam's body.

"I'll keep your secret, Sam," Miles found himself saying, feeling his heart break into tiny little pieces. "I'll do this for you one last time."


	21. To Death

With this chapter, I find myself confirming a suspicion of mine: Seekers are rather fun to write for. I may not be as familiar with them as I am with the Autobots, but Starscream and his crew are turning out to be crazy fun to play with. XD Not to mention the new dynamics of the Neo-Decepticons is quite interesting to unfold. I hope you all enjoy reading the craziness as much as I had fun writing it. Don't forget that reviews are inspiration! ^_^

If you're all wondering where the usual ramble of review responses are, don't worry- I haven't forgotten them! I'm trying a new thing by replying to all your reviews via Private Messaging. That way, the chapter itself doesn't get cluttered up as much as it has in the past. ^^; Unfortunately, like all new things, there are a few setbacks... Those wonderful reviewers who leave their reviews anonymously, I have no way of replying to you properly. That does not mean I love you any less. I think the world of each of your reviews! Never doubt the fact that you bring a smile to my face every time you take the time to write a few kind words. If the reply is important to you, you can always make an account to submit your review. ^_^ Another setback, as mentioned by an astute reader for another one of my stories, is the fact that without the review responses posted in the chapter, readers won't be able to fish them to pick up little tidbits of info about the story. If you are one of those readers who likes fishing for info about the story, well... I'm not sure what to tell you. ^^;

Nevertheless, even if I am replying to everyone's reviews via PM, that does not mean I don't want to give you a shout out! Many thanks to the kind reviewers of the last chapter: **animelover1993, Violet, femme4jack, Transformerslover95, Flameshield, Pruhana, Midnight Mrquis, CNightJoy, Phoebe Turner, Lyra, 1bloodtempest, GraceSolo, Frenzy5150, abarai-san**, and **EmberLady**~ Your kind words, probing questions, and brilliant insight never cease to inspire me~

Read, Review, and Enjoy~ ^_^

**May We Never Let Go  
To ****Death**

"I don't like this," Hot Rod intoned darkly as he stared at the star charts being projected from the middle of the conference table. On each chart was a series of coloured dots to mark the place where known Cybertronian camps were. Most of the Autobot and/or Neutral camps were grey dots, meaning that the camps had been abandoned in favour of coming to the Beta Zen region, settling close to the space bridge that linked their area of space to galaxy which Optimus Prime resided in. Only a few independent Neutral camps remained, marked in white; those camps were full of Cybertronians who were so fed up with the war that they didn't want to associate with their own kind anymore.

The charts also marked where known Decepticon camps were. Originally, they were marked with a purple dot of light. As each camp was taken down by the Seekers, the camp was marked with red to denote the defunct status of the camp.

As Hot Rod stared at the charts now, there were no purple dots anywhere to be seen.

Kup slammed his fist into the tabletop. "I don't understand how they can be working so fast! They've managed to take out every 'Con camp we know about in under a vorn!"

"They've done it in approximately one eighth of a vorn," Jetfire intoned without looking up from the data pad he was doing his own calculations on. "They've covered an incredible amount of space in an extremely short amount of time."

"They must have some damn fast ships now," Hot Rod cursed.

"Even with the fastest ships available to our species, I doubt they could have covered this much space," Jetfire replied, only to cause Hot Rod to huff in irritation.

"They have Skywarp, so wouldn't it make sense that they might have applied his teleporting technology to their ships?" Ultra Magnus suggested, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. His faceplate was a stern mask in the blue light of the holographic projectors.

Jetfire shook his head. "That technology was only ever meant to be used on small scale masses. To try to expand that to a ship..." The large scientist paused for a moment, as if trying to calculate in his head what the chances might be. In the end, he sighed and shook his head again. "No, the Seekers are not using teleporting technology."

"They're not doing this by magic, so they're getting around somehow," Hot Rod intoned heatedly.

First Aid braced his elbows in the edge of the long table and steepled his fingers. "Worm holes are probably our best bet right now."

Kup looked reluctant to accept such a method. "Travelling by worm holes has always been unpredictable at best. Wheeljack and the others here did good in stabilizing _this_ worm hole so that we can travel back and forth, but I can't see a bunch of Seekers being lucky enough to hit all the worm holes in space and not find a dud that tears them apart."

"From the reports we've been able to gather, the Seekers have some of the brightest minds with them right now," Jetfire pointed out with no small amount of consternation. "Sunstorm is an expert at star charting as well as other scholastic fields. He'd know how to handle worm holes, as would Starscream if he is with them. Acidstorm is Sunstorm's trine mate and is likely to be with them; he no doubt has his own tricks. Seekers like them were designed to handle space on their own."

First Aid sighed, his shoulders sagging. "It's unfair how many scientists from the Research Cores are 'Con Seekers."

"That is the least of our problems right now" Ultra Magnus growled. "If the rumours are true, then the Seekers have been _gathering_ their fellow Decepticon forces rather than destroying them. That means that not only do they have some of the brightest and most devious minds working for them, they have considerable numbers and firepower to back them up."

"Do you think they're going to try a coup?" First Aid wondered. "The majority of our species is gathered here. If the Seekers wage a full on assault, they could subsume us. If they attack Earth, they might overpower the Prime."

"If that were to happen... it doesn't bear to think about," Ultra Magnus said wearily.

"The news just gets better and better," Hot Rod snapped. "I say we put together our own task force and hit them before they hit us!"

"As much as I'd like to side with that, Roddy, we _can't_," Kup said, frustration lacing his tone. "We don't know their numbers or how strong they are. Pit, we don't even know their intentions. If we send a ship, we could very well be sending them to their deaths."

"But they're coming our way! We can't just do nothing!" Hot Rod exclaimed, motioning violently to the star chart which indicated a blinking light. It was the last known coordinate of the Seekers' caravan of ships. Behind it was another blinking dot, and behind it another. Strung together, it formed a line that pointed directly toward Beta Zen.

"There's a chance that they don't mean any harm at all," Jetfire pointed out cautiously.

"Seeker sympathizer," Hot Rod grunted, only to be shot a withering glare from the red-and-white jet.

"Hardly a sympathizer, but I am trying to be rational about this," Jetire said tersely. "So far, the intel we've been able to gather tells us that they've been subsuming other 'Cons into their collective. There have been no reports of an attack on any Autobot or Neutral camp. For all we know, the Seekers might only be trying to gather comrades for survival."

"That sounds suspiciously like forming an _army_," Hot Rod shot back. "The reason they haven't attacked yet is to probably keep us guessing. If we don't know what they're doing, we can't counter."

"That's the problem, Hot Rod, we _don't_ know what they're doing," Jetfire sighed. "Who is to say that they aren't as tired of war as we are? What if they are simply looking for a place to settle down?"

"The orn that happens, I'll learn Earth-style ballet," Hot Rod snorted.

"As entertaining as it would be to watch Hot Rob humiliated himself, I think our time would be better spent being on guard," Ultra Magnus said dryly. "We may not know what they're doing, but that's no reason to leave ourselves open to a possible attack. If we're alert, then even if the Seekers are gathering to take us out, we'll be able to respond quickly. If it turns out they don't want us, then no harm done in being vigilant."

Kup rose from his seat with a grunt. "I take it that we should alert the stations around here, then? Give everyone a heads up to what's going on?"

Ultra Magnus nodded. "Yes, inform the right bots that we need to keep our optics and audios open for any sign of trouble."

Kup caught on to the certain tone in the commander's voice. He arched an optic ridge. "You want to be selective about who knows what's going on?"

"Discretion would be helpful right now," said the large mech, scrubbing his faceplate tiredly. "If we're dealing with a mass-panic from the Neutrals here, it will only weaken us."

"They deserve to know what's going on," First Aid pointed out, pursing his mouthplates.

"We also deserve the chance to protect them without having everyone freak out and getting us all killed," Kup pointed out firmly. "Best thing we can do is pass it around to the Autobots so that they're all alert, but tell them to keep their mouthplates locked. There's no reason to cause more tension around here then there already is."

The lone medic shook his head tiredly. "Yes, of course. I understand... I simply think that leaving the Neutrals in the dark is a disservice to them. They've survived this long amidst war, so obviously they can keep a level head about themselves."

"If it will put your mind at ease, First Aid, the leaders of each of the Neutral factions will be informed of what is going on," Ultra Magnus said diplomatically. "They can decide what to do with the information."

First Aid nodded. "That sounds reasonable enough."

"Optimus Prime should be informed of the developments here, as well," Jetfire intoned. "If the Seekers are coming, then Earth shouldn't be left open to possible attack. They have the Allspark, after all. It needs to be protected."

"From what I've heard, they have their own list of troubles without us adding to it," Kup grumbled darkly.

"We've all heard what they've been dealing with," Hot Rod exclaimed. "It just makes everything worse. No one ever gets a break around here. First we find out that all the bots that have gone missing over the vorns weren't really missing, they were kidnapped by Shockwave and turned into monsters. Then we find out that every monster we thought was just story turns out to be real, and, oh! Let's not forget that the biggest baddie of all, Unicron himself, has been hiding out in Megatron's frame all this time and that at any moment he could start chowing down on the whole universe. Throw the Seekers into the mix and it's the worst party ever!"

"Quit being a Drama Prime," Kup grunted, smacking the younger mech on the back of the head. "Life sucks right now, but that's no reason to get hysterical over it."

Hot Rod settled down to sulk, drumming his sharp fingers against the tabletop in agitation.

Ultra Magnus rose from his own seat. "No matter the problems on Earth, Optimus should be informed of what developments have come about on this side of the space bridge. He'll be able to deal with the matter however way he sees fit."

With their meeting dismissed as such, the five bots broke up around the table to make their way outside. The door hissed open into the quiet length of private hall set off to the side from the command center of one of the main Autobot warships. Leaning against the wall opposite of the door was a handsome bot of green and yellow, his intelligent blue optics glowing deeply as he looked up to the group exiting the conference room.

"Springer," Ultra Magnus greeted with a nod of his head.

"Ultra Magnus," replied the mech.

Hot Rod shoved his way to the front to see the mech. "I knew you couldn't stay away from me," teased the brightly painted mech, sidling up to the larger green bot. "All the missions you go out on, you just gotta come back 'cause you miss me too much."

"Still an idiot, I see," Springer laughed, even as he extended his hand to touch with Hot Rod's, then bent low to bump their foreheads fondly.

"Some things never change," Jetfire pointed out, even as he turned down the hall to make his way back to his labs.

Hot Rod made a face at the scientist's retreating back. "You're just jealous of my good looks and stunning personality!"

Jetfire made no response except to laugh as he turned the corner and was gone from sight.

Ultra Magnus touched hands with Springer, then swept his hand in the direction he was headed in, inviting Springer to follow. First Aid bid his goodbyes, intent to return to his med bay. Kup, as well, had his own duties to see to, so immediately was gone to inform the necessary bots of the developments with the Seekers. Hot Rod was the only one to stay behind, following Ultra Magnus and Springer avidly in order to eavesdrop on every word.

As spoiled as Hot Rod knew he was, he was a changed mech from his orns hiding out in Epsilon base. While his arrogance and love of himself were ingrained into his personality files, war had stripped him of the other luxuries of his previous life. He recognized the responsibilities he had to the bots around him. He did not want to let everyone down. So, to better prepare himself, he followed behind Ultra Magnus and Springer to listen in on their exchange. The two older bots were well aware of Hot Rods intentions, allowing it because they were simply happy and relieved that Hot Rod was putting such dedication into improving himself.

"I take it that since you waited in the hall for me instead of finding me later, you and your Wreckers found something significant?" Ultra Magnus enquired, casting a sidelong glance down to the warrior at his side.

"You could say that... but technically it was an unintentional find," Springer intoned.

"Oh?"

The warrior shrugged. "We checked out that space station you told us to go to, just to see if they really were dealing out to Seekers. Turns out they were, and some Seekers were already on board doing some business."

"Why do you sound so guilty while saying that?"

Springer sighed. "My team might have gotten into a little scrap with them..."

"The orn you and your team don't get in a scrap with someone is the orn I will be surprised," Ultra Magnus intoned wryly. He couldn't count the number of apologies he had been forced to send to alien governments and various space stations after one Wrecker or another had gone and done something stupid. "Besides a fight, what do you have for me?"

"It was Starscream's trine, with Starscream included," Springer said, frowning. "Turns out, he's still a brutal fighter. So is Thundercracker and Skywarp."

"Is everyone all right?" Ultra Magnus asked, now surprised with the news.

"Whirl's in the med bay and the rest of us are banged up but fine," Springer reported.

"Three Seekers against your team? I'm surprised that the three of them would be dumb enough to fight," Ultra Magnus pointed out. "Starscream especially... I would expect something much more calculated from him."

"Well... _we_ kind of started the fight," Springer admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Screamer and the others didn't look too ready for a brawl, but they stepped up anyways when Sandstorm started getting pushy."

"And what happened?" Ultra Magnus pressed.

Springer drew a deep drag of air through his vents, holding it for an astrosecond.

Hot Rod noticed that the green Wrecker kept grasping the hilt of his sword, then releasing it. Grasp. Release. Grasp. Release. Like a nervous gesture. Something must have happened on that space station that really rattled him.

Upon getting no response, Ultra Magnus reiterated, "Springer, what happened?"

Finally, Springer gathered his wits enough to speak. "To be honest, I don't really know that happened. I drew my sword, Starscream drew his, and we went at it blade for blade. He left himself open, so I ran him through with my sword." He was silent for a moment, staring at the floor before looking back up. "I stabbed him straight through the spark."

"You _killed_ him?" Hot Rod gasped from behind them.

Even Ultra Magnus stopped dead in the middle of the hall.

Springer appeared to still be processing the words he just said. When he spoke again, he sounded uncharacteristically confused. "That's the thing, I should have killed him... but I didn't. I knew my sword was right through the middle of his spark, but he just looked up at me and pulled the blade out. I didn't have a chance to do anything else, since Skywarp teleported them out of there."

"What the frag?" Hot Rod exclaimed.

"Could it have been a drone lookalike?" Ultra Magnus suggested, trying to be reasonable about the situation.

"Maybe... but I could have sworn it was Starscream's spark signature. Might have been forged... I don't know," Springer replied carefully. "I thought something like this was important, so we rushed back as fast as we could to let you know. We even risked taking a short cut through a mini worm hole to get back here quicker." That little stunt had actually torn the aft section of their ship off.

"Thank you for your promptness," said Ultra Magnus. "I appreciate the trouble you went to in order to get this information, but..."

"It's so messed up," Hot Rod snorted.

Both Ultra Magnus and Springer glanced back, then kept walking.

"I have no idea what to make of this," Ultra Magnus admitted.

"You and me both," Springer said. "I still have Starscream's energon on my blade and no way to explain how he's still alive."

"Either the Seekers have drone-imposters of Starscream built and are using them..." Ultra Magnus said uneasily.

"Or the real Starscream is suddenly immortal," Springer concluded darkly, then scowled deeper. "I don't really like either option."

* * *

It was a difficult flight back to the safety of their flock. What was supposed to have been a routine trip to one of their few ally space stations had been absolutely _ruined_ by a bunch of nosey Autobots. Thanks to Wreckers, an apt name for a bunch of bots with the propensity for wrecking things they each had, the order of spare parts that Thundercracker had gone to a lot of trouble ordering was now lost. They didn't even have the hope of going back to get it another time. Getting into fights and wrecking an entire floor of an alien space station was grounds for getting permanently exiled from the place.

"Those damned, fragging, slag-sucking Autobots!" Skywarp exclaimed as he glared at the hole in Starscream's chest. "I can't believe one of them skewered you!"

Starscream adjusted his sitting position, grunting with discomfort. "Be glad I'm not dead."

"If it was anyone else, you would be dead!" Skywarp cried.

"Yes, but I am not anyone else. I am me, and I happen to be _not_ dead. Now hand me that repair kit," Starscream ordered, pointing to the small cabinet tucked into the wall in the back of their ship. Around them, they could hear the various docking procedures locking them securely into the hangar. It was a relief to be home again, safe within the confines of their main warship, _Birds of Paradise_.

Skywarp swung open the cabinet door and handed over the kit.

Thundercracker shut down the small ship's engines and wandered out of the cockpit, watching his wingmates carefully. His optics were particularly focused on Starscream and the hole that pierced him from front to back. It was a narrow wound, long and thin like the blade of the sword that had been thrust through him, but large enough to be able to see the glow of Starscream's spark. Anyone with half a circuit in their processor would know that no one normal could survive a hit like that.

"You should cover that before we get out," said Thundercracker.

While those in Starscream's closest inner circle somewhat knew the extent of the Seeker's unique condition, the Decepticons that had come into their care were not so well informed, which was the way they all preferred things to be. Too many bots already had their reservations about Starscream as a leader, so it was best not to give them any other reason to think that he was unfit to be anything but a science experiment.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Starscream hissed. A seam down his chest cracked open, revealing the insides of his chest and exposing his pierced sparkcase. He snapped open the repair kit and removed a couple of strips of dull-grey temporary plating, proceeding to align them to the outside of his sparkcase with one hand and picking up a miniature welding torch with the other. He showed nothing but methodical concentration as he worked.

Skywarp crouched down in front of Starscream and watched the process. "Doesn't that freak you out anymore?" he asked.

"No," Starscream replied.

"It used to freak you out," Skywarp pointed out.

"Yes, it did. Having life-threatening injuries inflicted on me with no more effect to my life than a scratch to my paint was a lot to adjust to," Starscream said absently, working around the metal with careful precision. Just because his spark was apparently immortal didn't mean he didn't want to be careful around it when working with welding torches and temp plating. Since the wound was small and the temp plating he had to weld over top was small, he finished the job quickly and was able to move on to the inside of his chest armour, welding a small strip of temp plating to the hole there.

"I don't think you should be this well adjusted," said the other Seeker, reaching out to touch the temp plating that now decorated the front of Starscream's sparkcase.

"This is a condition of my life that I now live with. I _had_ to adjust," replied the other Seeker, smacking his wingmate's hand away. "There's no point getting worked up about something that I know won't kill me. I am disturbed about it, yes, but I won't get hysterical."

"If there was anyone who was fit enough to handle something like this, it's you," Thundercracker intoned, taking the miniature welding torch the moment Starscream was done with it. He walked around so that he faced the roan red Seeker's back and knelt down in order to deal with the injury there. "But we still worry for you. One of these orns, you're going to encounter something that will prove that you're not as immortal as you think you are."

Starscream peered over his shoulder with a slight frown. "I don't consider myself a god, if that's what you're hinting at. I probably _can_ die with the right kind of injuries. However, I have no intention of testing myself in every dangerous situation I find myself in. That Autobot only got a lucky shot. It won't happen again."

"It better not," Thundercracker intoned as he finished his job.

"_It won't,"_ Starscream pressed.

The hatch in the side of the ship opened, Hook appearing in the open space. "You get the parts?" he asked gruffly.

Starscream snapped his chest shut as fast as he physically could, forcing his faceplate not to wince when a sharp pain lanced through his frame. The medic noticed the movement but said nothing about it. His philosophy in life was basically if the patient wasn't screaming for his life or unconscious on the table dying, then they were fit enough to take care of it themselves. Seeing the tiny nick in the front of Starscream's chest, Hook figured this was just another case of a bot getting into a scuffle and didn't need someone wasting their time fussing over it.

"Well?" Hook intoned, crossing his arms.

"Ran into trouble at the space station," Thundercracker growled, packing away the repair kit.

"The _Autobot_ kind of trouble," Skywarp added.

The Constructicon growled, scowling mutinously. "We needed those parts for the bots you just brought in. They're in desperate need of repairs and part replacements."

Starscream rose from his seat, moving toward the hatchway. Hook backed his way down the ramp, giving the Seeker room. Starscream met Hook's steady gaze with a shaded one of his own. "I realize that we needed those parts, but it can't be helped. We ran into some Autobots there and they didn't seem to appreciate our presence."

"Did you tell them we come in peace?" Hook drawled sarcastically.

"Even if I had, I doubt they would have listened. It was the Wreckers," Starscream said darkly.

"They're not exactly known for being rational," Skywarp intoned helpfully.

Thundercracker stared at his wingmate, then shook his head and said softly, "_oh, the irony_."

"That's just great. Really. All we need is for the Autobots to stick their olfactory sensors into our business. They only make things worse" Hook said, motioning to his fellow Constructicons, who all stood waiting on the floor of the hangar. The moment they saw Hook's pinched expression, they knew the flight had not gone as expected. Some sagged, others cursed. Hook returned his attention to Starscream, spreading his hands in a gesture of exasperation. "What are we going to do for the bots who need the parts?"

"We're going to do what we first did when we started getting bots together," Starscream replied evenly. "Get word out about what parts you need and see if anyone is willing to donate until we are able to pick up the right parts."

"Right," grunted the medic. "I'll check with the groups on the _Phoenix_ and _Zazu_ first. I hear they might have some things stockpiled." He turned to his group and ushered them out of the hangar. Their collective expressions were dark yet determined. If looking for parts meant they got to terrorize other Neo-Decepticons to get them, then it was considered a bonus for them.

Starscream watched them go, grateful for their presence in his army even if they liked to complain about it extensively. The Constructicons were among the oldest groups to have been with the Seekers, being one of the first to be collected from their ramshackle camp on a hostile planet that had been planning to bomb them. Like most bots who had become part of the Neo-Decepticons, the Constructicons did not like the idea of being under Starscream's command. Pit, they barely tolerated Starscream. But they were a smart bunch who knew that they didn't have any better option. With the Neo-Decepticons, they had shelter, energon, and a purpose. Elsewhere, they'd be dead. They showed their appreciation by working on what needed to be done, fixing the dying bots who came in or keeping the many ships of their large army running.

"You think they'll hurt anyone?" Skywarp wondered absently, not really worried. He was just curious.

"Nah," Thundercracker replied. "If they hurt anyone, they'd just have to fix them later. Worst they'll do is some good old fashioned intimidation. They're good at that."

The trio of Seekers cut in the opposite direction of the Constructicons the moment they got into the narrow hall of the _Birds of Paradise_. Their flight and subsequent fight on the space station had drained them of their energy, so at the top of their list of things to do was refuelling. Everything else could wait. They made it to one of the energon dispensation rooms without incident, but the moment the three of them sat down, Thundercracker reached over to nudge Starscream.

"Freak alert," he muttered.

Starscream didn't bother to look around. Instead, he scanned the area for spark resonances and discovered that Dead End was sitting in the corner of the large, crowded room. A prickle of awareness slid down Starscream's back, knowing that the mech was watching him again. Ever since Dead End had come into their care with the rest of his team, the Stunticon had developed the most unusual obsession with following Starscream around. Wherever the Seeker went, Dead End was suddenly there. It was like having a stalker or a freakish shadow.

"How did he even know we were back already?" Skywarp wondered in a low voice, his faceplate reflecting his exasperation.

"He might have Starscream tagged with a tracer or something," Thundercracker replied, trying hard not to give into the urge to turn over his shoulder and stare back at the unusual mech sitting across the room.

Skywarp started to rise from the table, his energon cube untouched. "I should go straighten him out." And by 'straightening out' he meant pound the little freak's faceplate in.

Starscream laid a hand to his brother's arm to stay him. "He's not doing anything wrong. I'll go talk to him."

"By yourself?" Skywarp asked, wrinkling his olfactory sensor.

"Yes, by myself," Starscream said, rising from the table and taking his energon cube with him. "If you haven't noticed, I'm a big bot and can do things by myself."

"Just be careful," Thundrecracker called after him a low voice. "He likes death too much for me to trust him."

Starscream peered over his shoulder. "I don't die very easily, so it looks like we're evenly matched."

The moment Dead End realized that Starscream was approaching, he sat up straighter and did not blink until the Seeker was standing right in front of him. His gaze was so avid that it was almost like a physical touch. Those flashing optics raked their way up and down his frame, rapidly assessing every possible detail. Finally, Dead End's gaze landed on the small wound in Starscream's front. It was barely noticeable now, looking more like a crack in the metal rather than a stab wound. The intensity with which Dead End stared at the wound bordered on psychotically obsessed. He showed more excitement in the wound than he had ever displayed to any living creature.

"Dead End."

The mech's gaze snapped away from the wound to stare into Starscream's faceplate.

"I want to speak with you," Starscream said firmly, giving no room for argument.

Dead End blinked, canted his head to the side, then nodded.

"Do you mind if I sit?" Starscream enquiring, eyeing the empty seat across the table from the Stunticon.

"Yes, I do mind," Dead End intoned mournfully. He turned his gaze to Thundercracker and Skywarp, who were watching the exchange warily. When they noticed Dead End staring back, they snapped around and took long swigs from their energon cubes, pretending not to have been doing exactly what they had been doing.

"Shall we go somewhere else?" Starscream suggested.

"A place where we won't be overheard," Dead End said. "There are too many bots here, and they all like listening too much. They want to know what makes you so different now." His gaze dropped once again to the wound on Starscream's chest.

Starscream smartly moved his cube of energon in front of the wound, successfully cutting off Dead End's staring and forcing the mech to look him in the optic. "The observation deck is private. We will have the room to ourselves."

"The room you first brought Motormaster to?" asked the mech, rising from his chair and grabbing his own cube of energon mixed with coal dust and sulphur. Starscream tried hard not to gag at the mixture, which was blackish and sludgy. He had noted a long time ago that bots from Kaon had a taste for the drink, but he could never figure out _why_. By all accounts, it was disgusting. However, Kaonites loved the drink like it was a delicacy.

"Yes, that room," Starscream said, stepping back to lead the way. He walked out of the energon dispensation room noting that more than a few optics followed his progress. His haughty glare did not dissuade their staring, but it did make them a little more discreet about it.

Dead End stood at Starscream's elbow, looking back into the room as the Seeker was. "See? They all know something's different about you. They're all trying to figure it out."

"You're just less polite about it?" Starscream snorted.

"I guess," Dead End shrugged.

The observation deck was several levels above the one they stood on, so they boarded a lift and went up. They came to the specified room without incident, though Starscream did not enjoy the trip up while in the company of the one Stunticon who could make anyone uneasy. The rest of the Stunticons were rather simple to comprehend; they were originally stuntbots from Kaon, created purely to thrill audiences with death-defying stunts. As warriors, they were hedonistic and constantly sought activities to distract them. Dead End was a capable warrior like his brethren, but too subdued to be thrill-seeking and too pensive to be entirely hedonistic. And, as evidenced by his single-mindedness in following Starscream around, Dead End was anything but easily distracted.

Reaching their destination, Starscream breezed into the observation deck first, followed closely by Dead End.

"You might want to lock the door," Dead End said.

Remembering Thundercracker's earlier wariness of the Stunticon, Starscream hesitated before doing anything. "Why should I lock it?"

Dead End immediately caught on to the Seeker's concern. A strange smile curved his mouthplates. "Don't worry, Starscream. I can't kill you."

Something about the word phrasing set Starscream on edge. Most bots would simply say 'I won't attack' or 'I don't want to fight you' but Dead End said 'I can't kill you.' _Can't. _As if he already knew it was pointless to try.

When the Seeker didn't move for the door, Dead End wandered over and input a locking sequence of his own. When he was done, his dim red optics stared up at Starscream again in a careful manner, less avid than before. Knowing that he had the Seeker in a private place to talk seemed to drain him of most of his obsessive attention.

Starscream met the red stare with one of his own, measuring the smaller bot for his worth. "What is your interest in me, Dead End?"

"Does it matter?" asked the other bot, canting his head.

"It does if you are going to keep following me around," Starscream replied.

The bot nodded. "Then I do suppose it would matter to you, wouldn't it?" He turned on his heel and wandered to the large windows lining the room.

Starscream did not follow, choosing to stay in the shadows nearest the door. From there, he had a perfect vantage point to observe Dead End. He was a scientist at spark; the observation of the things he was trying to understand made him feel powerful. At one time, he would have been scheming for some angle to bring about Dead End's downfall or else somehow convince the mech to come onto his side. Now, Starscream wanted to know what made the bot tick for the purposes of simply knowing.

"Did you know that chaos and death are two of the only constant things in the universe?" Dead End asked absently, trailing his fingers across the glass of the windows.

"The Law of Entropy states that the chaos of any system increases by factors relative to the amount of time that system has been in place," Starscream replied. "Chaos is a measurable force in the universe. We use it to understand the rate at which this universe expands and how objects may relate to each other."

"And death?" Dead End wondered.

Starscream paused, then said, "All things must die eventually."

"Yes... eventually." There was a longing in Dead End's voice that was entirely discomforting. "All things mortal die in their own time. It's a beautiful system, isn't it?"

"Beautiful is an odd term to use," Starscream said, hedging the question.

Dead End didn't seem to notice the lack of a proper answer. "I suppose 'humbling' might be a good word for it too."

"I am not in the mood to play mind games, Dead End," Starscream intoned with a lace of warning; he didn't feel like detouring into a lengthy existential discussion of what adjectives would best suit death.

The Stunticon pursed his mouthplates. "Mind games?"

"You know why I brought you here. I am tired of your staring and I demand to know your purpose. Either you tell me, or I will go into your head myself and find out," Starscream said tightly. It wasn't a threat. He might have been different from his previously Decepticon self, but he was still willing to do what needed to be done in order to get what he wanted.

"Ah, that." Dead End turned away from the window, leaning against against it. His faceplate was in shadow, but his optics smouldered like dying embers. He was quiet for a very long time, the intensity of his gaze returning tenfold as he both regarded Starscream and thought about the request demanded of him. Starscream had not thought the matter to weigh so heavily on the Stuncticon's conscience, and so was taken aback by the intensity of his consideration.

"You won't let me leave this room without getting an answer, will you?" Dead End asked quietly, sadly.

"No."

"That's unfortunate," he sighed, but seemed to accept the answer as his fate. For a moment, he looked away, blinked once, then focused back on Starscream. His gaze dropped to the healing hole in the Seeker's chest. "That stab wound in your chest," he said. "It goes straight through, doesn't it?"

Starscream reflexively raised a free hand to the wound. "It's a nick."

"For you, maybe. A normal bot would have died from a sword through the spark," Dead End replied.

A cold jolt of electricity zinged through Starscream's frame. "How did you know?"

Dead End turned away, saying nothing.

In a few long strides, Starscream was across the room and looming over Dead End. His hands came up, spun the mech around, and slammed him into the windows. The attack came as such a surprise that Dead End dropped his cube, the brackish sludge oozing everywhere.

"I told you I'm not interested in your games, Stunticon," Starscream snarled.

Dead End pressed himself away, as if trying to sink through the glass behind him in an attempt to escape. No such luck. He was pinned in place by the Seeker's superior strength. Realizing he had nowhere to go, he dropped his head in submission, turning his faceplate away.

"I can see it," the small mech murmured.

Starscream pressed the smaller bot harder to make sure Dead End understood the threat before he backed off. "See what? The nick?"

"No," Dead End replied, backing down a step as soon as he was released. "I see all of it."

"All of what?"

Dead End now kept his gaze averted, the light of his optics dimming considerably. "The sword that pierced you, the hole that goes right through you."

"That's not possible," Starscream breathed.

"As impossible as a bot that does not die?" Dead End countered, glancing up for an astrosecond.

The sudden shock and panic that hit Starscream had him rearing back. No one except his closest Seekers should know. No one but his brothers and the incorrigible pair Sunstorm and Acidstorm. They wouldn't dare betray him! With the alarm came a rush of violence to protect himself and his secrets. He lashed forward again, taking Dead End by the throat and ramming him to the windows. This time, he was not so kind to the Stunticon; Dead End's feet left the floor. Where most bots would have been fighting hysterically for their lives, Dead End submitted to the sudden brutality. His frame went lax, arms hanging loosely at his sides. His somber optics stared straight ahead with no emotion in them.

"How. Do. You. Know?" Starscream demanded.

Dead End sighed, working his mouthplates to speak. His vocal processor was constricted by the restraining grip, so the only noise that came out was static.

Struggling to find some proper restraint, Starscream swung away. Dead End dropped to the floor, one hand gently massaging his crushed neck.

"I already told you," said the mech. "I can see it."

"See _what?_" Starscream pressed, feeling his spark racing in his sparkcase. It pulsed hard and strong, burning against the healing wound in his sparkcase.

"Death."

It was said with such painful conviction that Starscream had no objection to throw at the whispered statement. Instead, he clenched his fists, feeling his frame tense in a building horror that he did not understand. Not liking the feeling of going out of control, he dragged in a deep breath of air and cycled it around his innards, forcing some semblance of calm into himself.

To test the words on his own mouthplates, Starscream carefully said, "You see... death?"

Dead End stood straight now, his hand fallen from his neck as if he no longer felt the pain of the crushed armour. "Yes." He looked the Seeker up and down. "You believe me."

"I can't _not_ believe you," Starscream hissed reluctantly. He had seen and heard of far too many strange things in the universe not to outright disbelieve such a seemingly outlandish claim.

There was no expression on the Stunticon's faceplate as he said, "You don't want to believe me, though."

"Who would?" the Seeker spat.

"True," Dead End replied, his tone quiet. "No one wants to know that someone can see their death. It bothers them too much."

Starscream took to sizing the Stunticon up yet again, now measuring him against this new, bizarre character trait. Suddenly, many odd quirk about Dead End made sense. His chronically-morose disposition, his morbid fascination with death. Who wouldn't be depressed when all you could see was the death of everyone around you? Just knowing what Dead End could see disturbed Starscream to the core. How far did this gift extend? Was death all Dead End saw, or did he see other things as well? Starscream's mind started to switch gears, adapting to this new development; were there others like himself and Dead End? Were there transformers with unusual abilities? Why did they have these abilities? How could Starscream use them to his advantage?

"You're taking this rather well," observed the Stunticon. "I expected another attack on me, or possibly you storming out and ordering Thundercracker and Skywarp to end me. I never expected you to just stand there. It's a little anticlimactic."

Starscream chose not to give that statement any answer. Instead, he asked, "Do your team mates know what you can do?"

"No," Dead End replied.

"Does anyone?"

"I have never outright told anyone what I can see," said Dead End. "You are the first, and I hope that you are the last."

To this, Starscream's optics flashed. "I can understand the need to keep secrets."

"You would, wouldn't you?" Dead End shrugged.

Starscream inclined his head. "Have you always been like this?"

"From the orn that I was brought online."

What a terrible thing to be cursed with from the first moments of life.

"And what do you 'see' when you say that you see death?" Starscream enquired.

"It's odd discussing something like this when I've never spoken a word of it to another living being before..." Dead End mused absently. "When I look at a bot, I get a vague impression in my mind of how they will die. It's a bit like remembering a distant memory." He looked at his hand for a moment. "If I touch them, the sense is clearer. I'll know when and where and how." He dropped his hand and sighed. "I knew the war was coming when bots' deaths started changing. I think I'm one of the only ones who looked forward to the war."

Starscream tried not to let that statement bother him. "A bot's death can change?"

Dead End drew away from his reverie slowly. "A single act, a stray thought, the choice to take a path less travelled... it can all change how someone lives, and inevitably how they die." He tilted his head, watching Starscream carefully with that mournful, unblinking stare of his. "During the war, I saw you die a dozen different ways. Every time you had a new scheme to usurp Megatron's power, you died a different way. Megatron would shoot you in the head, poison you, torture you, execute your wingmates in front of you before killing you himself. So many ways."

"I see..." Starscream did _not_ like how almost cheerful Dead End sounded as he recounted the various possible deaths he might have suffered at Megatron's hands. He met Dead End's stare and carefully worded his next question. "What do you see when you look at me now."

Dead End tensed for a moment. "Nothing," he murmured.

"Are you sure?" Starscream pressed.

"Yes," Dead End answered, shuddering. "I see nothing when I look at you now. I can look at your wound and know that a sword pierced through your spark, and I know that you _should_ have died, but obviously you are not dead."

"So I really am immortal," Starscream sighed, staring at his hand. His _immortal _hand.

"I did not say you were _immortal_," Dead End intoned. "I said you do not die, at least as far as I can see. I've been trying for orns to see something from you, but there is nothing."

"Explaining your obsession with me," Starscream pointed out.

"I had almost hoped that if I stared long enough, I might see something," the Stunticon admitted ruefully. "Either your fate has been concealed from me, or you are a creature that does not die at all." His expression turned deeply mournful. "More's the pity to you."

Starscream smirked bitterly. "Figures that you would consider immortality a curse."

Dead End shook his head. "Living forever is just another kind of death."

Starscream could say nothing to refute such a statement.

"You have more questions for me," Dead End said quietly. "My team mates have heard that you've taken me and are coming to my rescue as we speak. You only have time for one more question. You might want to ask it wisely."

"Have you ever seen something like me before?" Starscream asked immediatly.

"Exactly like you? No," Dead End said. "Have I seen other things, though. You see a lot of strange things when you can see what I do."

"Do I have time for one more question?" Starscream wondered quickly, just as another important enquiry hit him. This question was more important than any other he had asked before, and with it in his mind, he burned with the need to ask it and know the answer. He needed to know.

Dead End glanced to the door, then back to Starscream. "You have time."

Starscream dragged air through his vents first, letting it out in a moderated release. "What did you see when you looked at Megatron?"

For a moment, nothing happened. The small mech did nothing at all, his whole frame frozen. Slowly, movement came back to him. A creeping procession that curled the mech's mouthplates into a smile disturbing enough to peel paint; the look of delight that passed over his faceplate was sickening to take in. His whole demeanour changed, from sullen and mournful into something that was made of nightmares. Twisted reverence, awed worship, demented adoration.

"Oh, _Him_," said the Stunticon, breathing the reference like a prayer. "He is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

"What did you see, Dead End?" Starscream pressed through gritted mouthplates.

"He is beyond death." He swayed, caught up in fond memories. "He is the End of this universe."

Starscream shuttered his optics, wishing he had never asked the question in the first place.


	22. To Promise

I know I updated this story only a couple days ago, but I got a little bored so I figured I might as well post this chapter. I think this story might get a windfall of updates in a really short amount of time just so I can get the chapters out there before I go house-sitting for a professor of mine (so be prepared to review like the wind! XD ). I'll be gone a couple of weeks and I don't know if I'll have internet access at his place. After I get back from that, I'm going on a two week vacation, so, again, probably no internet access. Might be August/September before I get back to FanFiction... I don't know for sure. I'll know more after June 15th (my birthday), since that's around the time I'm moving into my professor's place.

To the wonderful and loyal readers of the last chapter, I sincerely which to express my appreciation of your inspiring reviews. Although I miss the readers who have disappeared, I cherish the ones who continue to leave their thoughts, questions, and insight behind as encouragement to continue this story. My most sincere and humble thanks to **JenEvan, femme4jack, CNightJoy, Flameshield, Standout4Christ, Phoebe Turner, EmberLady**, and **Marsh Queen**. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, _thank you_~

**May We Never Let Go  
To ****Promise**

Flamewar tugged her cloak closer around herself, scowling at the falling flakes of white drifting around her. Winter had come early on the coast. Mid-November was technically still autumn, but for all intents and purposes, the weather clearly thought that it was supposed to be winter. No matter where you looked, the trapping of the most wretched season on Earth lurked and taunted. The trees were shed of their wretched leaves, the bark encrusted in frost; the ground was blanketed in a layer of cold, white, fluffy slag; and the metal of Carnéval was almost entirely slicked over with glittering ice.

_Ice. _It was enough to put any Cybertronian in a bad mood.

Extreme temperatures were nothing to a Cybertronian, especially the cold. They could survive the frigid temperatures of space without a care. It was when _weather_ got involved, especially damned Earth weather, that things started getting messy. Even if temperatures were manageable, it was the precipitation that got to them. Winters in cold areas brought snow, sleet, hail, freezing rain, and ultimately _ice_. If enough freezing water seeped into their systems, it could send them into thermal shock. Ice could build up in their joints and paralyse them, even throw them into stasis; if the energon powering them was diluted enough, there was the chance that ice could form in their lines as well. Lubricants could ice over if not treated properly. The bitter cruelty of Northern winters could easily reduce an exposed Cybertronian to nothing more than a living corpse; the Ice Man that Megatron had once been could easily become anyone's fate.

Flamewar hated winter and hated ice because it represented _captivity_. It reminded her of the first orns of her... creation, if it could be called that. Her master had been a depraved artist from the depths of Kaon who had sought to capture life in his sculptures. What better way to do that than to literally give his artwork life? Flamewar's spark had been placed into a statue, and she had lived for an endless time frozen in the shop window of her master, able to see, hear, and understand everything that was going on around her, but unable to speak, feel, or move. She would never be in a situation like that again. Frozen or stuck as a statue, she would never return to that helpless state.

Consciously, she adjusted her cloak closer to herself again. Her claws caught on the decorative embroidering that Barricade had invested in the crinkly canvas material. Everyone in Carnéval had cloaks like hers; made of tarp and insulation and treated with water-proofing and anti-freeze. "Clothing" was a foreign concept to Cybertronians, but they had adapted to the necessity here. It was either that or become the world's largest ice sculptures; a simple cloak certainly was the lessor of the two evils. Their winter wear was one of the few things that kept water and ice from seeping into the open spaces on their frames. Aside from weaponry, Flamewar did not care what her gear looked like. So long as it did its job, she didn't give a frag if it was ugly as the pit- which explained how she was able to put up with Virus for so long. It was Barricade who enjoyed making things beautiful for her. The embroidering was stupid, but Barricade found peace doing it, so Flamewar didn't complain... much.

There was only one thing that Flamewar could positively attribute to the autumn/winter season, and that was the beauty that the cold, empty bareness brought. The greenness of Earth was not to her taste. She did not like the trees or the flowers or the bugs or animals. Cybertron had none of that ridiculousness. In the winter, Earth came its closest to that peaceful, uncluttered, empty state in which Cybertron perpetually existed in.

A large shadow shifted behind her, pulling up a hood so that snow would stop piling on top of a dark head.

Flamewar glanced back at Soundwave. He looked as he usually did; stoic and pensive. He disliked winter nearly as much as she did, but he had a strange soft spot for the season when his symbiotes had fun frolicking in the mess of wet white snow. Tonight, he sat with Flamewar in the open courtyard, only partially shielded from the snowfall by the overhang of the _Loki._ From the shadow of his hood, Soundwave's visor smouldered heatedly. Flamewar could feel every time he scanned the area, the feeling of the scan washing against her like a light tickle. He was keeping watch over his symbiotes while they were off in the dark woods, not that he was necessarily worried for their safety. Tonight was a special night and Soundwave worried for the creatures that his symbiotes were currently charged with looking after.

Nearby in the courtyard, Roulette and Barricade were engaged in a game of chess. Both were skilled players, shrewd and calculated in their moves. Their forms were hunched in the rainbow lights of Carnéval, their cloaks gathered around them tightly.

To the side, Drift and Nightbird were distracted themselves with a mild sparring match. They moved slowly, their attacks light. There was no intent to hurt each other; they were merely bored and were looking to occupy their time and thoughts with something constructive. Nightbird was only nine feet to Drift's eighteen, but their height difference caused little impact on their match. Nightbird was volatile enough to hold her own, while Drift was intelligent to recognize that if he tried to pull his punches, he'd end up pulling Nightbird's fist out of his faceplate.

"You seem restless," Soundwave suddenly intoned, his deep voice resonating in the night.

Flamewar glanced back at the larger bot before returning her gaze to the frenetic lights and sights of their crazy home. "I hate winter."

"It's only going to get worse," Soundwave replied.

"So is my mood," the femme replied.

Soundwave did not reply, but he did give off a long, expansive sigh.

From the surrounding woods, the sound of raucous laughter gained the attention of all the Cybertronians present. Drift and Nightbird stopped sparring, while Barricade looked up from the chess game, letting Roulette switch all the pieces before she too looked up. The laughter was not the revving, shrieking, electronic sound of Cybertronian laughter. It was human noise. Young humans. Squealing and shrieking, laughing and yelling.

A bobbing light came into sight down the gravelled road leading out of Carnéval. The single light was Ravage's optic, as red and bright as ever. He trotted along at a moderate pace, each step accompanied by the light jingling of bells. As he came into the glow of the rainbow lights, the tiny bells sewn into the harness he was wearing glittered and glinted down his dark flanks. On his head was a wreath of evergreen fir, tipped crooked to the side, holding on by a single red velvet ribbon. By human standards, he was a rather hideous creature of spikes and fangs and sharp edges, but tonight he looked hilariously festive with his wreath and bells. He was hitched up to a sleigh, and in the sleigh was nearly a dozen young children from Moose Wash.

The children, all bundled up tightly in thick jackets, woollen mittens, drooping hats and ugly knitted scarves, cheered as Carnéval came into sight. There were only a few times a year when they were allowed to come to this place; one of those times was after the first few falls of snow for the season, when there was enough packing on the ground to allow for sleigh rides. Carnéval was far enough way from town to prevent humans from coming on a regular basis, but the children were persistent and eager, willing to do anything it took to visit their giant metal friends. These occasional visits were the compromise. Their parents would drop them off at the main road, leaving their kids' care in the hands of some of the universe's most dangerous creatures as Ravage would trot off in a bright red sleigh. They came for a short time to see the lights, built forts, and got to sit in the seats of the _Loki _and pretend to fly the ship. Then they would be sent home.

Tonight, through the cacophony of young laughter and chattering came the vague tune of a song the children had made up in honour of their current sleigh-puller. The song was called Ravage the Red-eyed Robot, sung in tune to a similar seasonal song:

_Ravage the Red-eyed Robot,  
Has a very bright red eye!  
And every time you see it,  
It makes you want to run and hide! _

Taking up the rear of the group were Rumble and Frenzy, jogging along with humans perched on their shoulders. They, too, were singing as loudly as they could. Ravage might not have been impressed by the song, but Frenzy and Rumble thought it was hilarious. They egged the children on to sing it louder and louder until their shrieks were deafening.

Flamewar turned her head to the side and laughed. She may not have been a fan of human younglings, but they could be incredibly clever when they wanted to be.

When Ravage finally stopped in the courtyard, the children piled off the sleigh in a stampede, tumbling into the snow without a concern. While they had to worry about hypothermia in the cold weather, they were not as wary of the snow as the Cybertronians. In fact, some of the crazy little fraggers even _liked_ snow. The smaller younglings still in the sleigh, too small to get down without assistance, looked on eagerly to the white fluffy slag while they waited for Rumble and Frenzy to help them down. Despite the cold and dark and the fact they were surrounded by creatures they should have been terrified of, the children were ecstatic to be at Carnéval.

"Hi, Officer Barricade!" Lucy chirped happily, waving at the mech excitedly.

"Hello, Lucy," Barricade replied. His smile glinted in the lights hanging around him, making his dark armour and sharp faceplate look frightening and fascinating at the same time.

Festivities quickly got underway as the children chattered and squealed to do everything first. They wanted to make forts and have snowball fights. They wanted to build snowmen, but instead of snowmen they wanted to make snow_robots_. They wanted to watch the Cybertronians make fireworks with their plasma cannons. Would they transform and take them for rides in their alt modes? Could Soundwave take them for a flight? Could Ravage take them for more sleigh rides? Were they allowed inside the _Loki_? Could they fly the _Loki_ for real this time instead of pretending?

Barricade, being the best at working with younglings, easily directed the small group to what they were going to do first. Something simple for them, which was building snow_robots_ and snow forts. In the rainbow lights of the hodgepodge base, the white snow glittered every colour imaginable; the night was kept at bay, so even the most nervous child had nothing to fear from the dark. The other Cybertronians stayed close to keep an optic on the little creatures. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw sat perched in the trees, watching in case one of the younglings looked thirsty or cold. The people of Moose Wash trusted them with their most precious treasures, and it seemed only right to return all the children in the same condition they had arrived in.

Flamewar was reluctant to get in on the "fun," so she was relieved when Soundwave nudged her shoulder and nodded toward the _Loki_.

"Incoming call," said the mech. "Sideswipe."

"I'll get it," replied the femme, popping to her feet and shaking herself free of snow. She trotted into the ship via the ramp in the back, heading through the maze of halls to the bridge where a console was bleating pathetically. With a flick of a couple buttons, Flamewar had the channel open and adjusted to cut down on static. Sideswipe handsome faceplate appeared.

"_Finally!"_ he exclaimed. _"Now tell me, how has the most beautiful piece of machinery I have ever known been doing?"_

Flamewar rolled her optics. "Your ship is fine."

Sideswipe grinned. "_Good, 'cause I'd hate for any of you glitches to break it while I'm not there." _

"I wish I could hit you through this screen," Flamewar drawled as she unclasped her cloak and shook it out, laying it on one of the chairs. "Is this a social call or do you have a real reason for wasting my time?"

"_Real reason," _Sideswipe assured, his expression shifting. "_Some things have been going down and I just wanted to give you guys the heads up." _

"Nemesis attacking more power stations? Gee, no surprise there," Flamewar snorted.

Sideswipe shook his head. _"It's worse than that. He's started attacking EDC bases now; he's hit Seoul base in Korea and Bush in Australia." _

Flamewar shifted, her attention immediately zeroing in on the red twin. She might not have given a damn about Seoul or Bush or anywhere else, but she knew that a change in the enemy's movements was never a good thing. "Did he kill anyone?"

"_He killed a lot of organics. Humans, Nebulons, Klozians, some Uma... the list goes on. He's only wounded our kind, though."_

"The reason being...?"

Sideswipe glanced over his shoulder, as if he were making sure the coast was still clear. Flamewar could see Sunstreaker in the background, standing near the door. She couldn't make out what type of room they were in, but it was a dark room with a dirt floor. _"The attacks are warnings; he's leaving messages with the bots he leaves alive. Either we hand over what he wants, or he's going to destroy everything and take it." _

"He wants the Allspark," Flamewar growled.

"_Who doesn't?"_ Sideswipe replied. _"You guys may not be EDC, but you're still a Cybertronian post with a lot of powerful bots in it. There's a chance he might attack and it's better that you're prepared if that happens." _

"We can take care of ourselves," Flamewar replied flatly. "He already took out the oil rig here; we won't let him take out our home."

"_I know you won't," _Sideswipe said. _"Me and Sunny just want you guys to be careful. We don't want to see you hurt. Nemesis is strong and there's something seriously not right about him. If he were to hurt, or Primus forbid, kill one of you..."_ He looked away, his faceplate looking as worn down and exhausted. _"Just don't get yourself into that kind of situation."_

Flamewar opened her mouthplates to say something, but was cut off by a keening scream that cut straight through the hull of the _Loki_. More screams followed, and then the whole ship rocked as something was thrown into it.

Sideswipe's optics paled. _"What was that?" _

"I think you know," Flamewar said darkly. She shut the channel down and ran from the bridge, flinging herself out the hatch and to the ground. The lights of Carnéval had gone dark, leaving the entire clearing cast into shadow. Only the glow of red optics and blue energon lit the too-dark night.

The screaming was louder now. None of it was Cybertronian. The children were in a panic, running as fast as their winter boots would allow. Their floppy hats and soaked scarves flapped into their faces, blinding them as they tried to escape the pounding of gigantic feet around them. The snow was slick under their feet, throwing them face-first to the ground. Their cheeks, streaked with tears of terror, soon turned muddy with frozen dirt and blood. The symbiotes were rushing through the melee, snatching the young ones to safety while the larger bots engaged the enemy.

"Ravage, get the children out of here!" Barricade roared, his flail whistling through the air to wrap around Nemesis Prime's neck.

Ravage roared in acknowledgement. He took what children he had in the sleigh, gripped the harness between his armour shearing fangs, and took off into the woods at a dead run. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw took to the air with furious screeches, their own wailing burdens clutched in their claws. Frenzy and Rumble had their arms full as they, too, ran for the safety of the dark trees. They didn't dare transform, knowing the children were too young to ride dirt bikes properly; they could only carry the humans in their arms and run in bipedal mode. Moose Wash was an hour away, but they were willing to run the whole way if they had to.

Roulette came to her feet, shaking herself off. There was only a small scuff above her from where she had collided with the _Loki_; the ship's hull was tougher than it looked. Her armour, on the other hand, was thinner and had not fared so well. Her cloak was ripped. Through the tear revealed a sizable dent across her back. Her left arm was twisted out of its socket. Her crimson optics blazed with pure murder. She caught sight of Flamewar and stalked over.

"He came out of nowhere, 'War," said the other femme, turning to present her arm to her ex-commander. Flamewar grasped it and twisted, wrenching the limb home.

"Did he bring reinforcements?" Flamewar asked warily, growling around the words.

Roulette grunted, rotating the corrected joint. "No. He came by himself. A big black hole opened up and he stepped through- nearly stepped on Lucy if Barricade hadn't ran out and got her."

"One mech against all of us?" Flamewar demanded, disgusted that it was taking this long to take him down.

"He's a lot stronger than he looks," Roulette replied darkly.

Barricade currently had his flail around Nemesis Prime's neck, trying to drag the larger mech to the ground. Nemesis wasn't going down so easily. Even as the barbs dug into his black armour, ripping into sensitive neural wires beneath, Nemesis did not even go to his knees. He reached up, grasped the chain of the flail and yanked it forward, throwing Barricade off his feet. The monster's fist cracked into the smaller bot's faceplate, a spurt of glowing energon sparking into the night.

Flamewar felt the urge to call out, to rush the enemy with claws and fangs bared, but she held tight to the insane urge. Barricade was a capable warrior. If she rushed in, it might cost her both her sparkmate's life and her own. She felt Barricade's brief reassurance as a brush to her spark.

Nemesis raised his fist for another strike while Barricade was down, but the minibot was faster. He wrapped his hand around the slack length of flail still dangling from his fist. With a hard yank, he finally managed to get the Dark Prime to bow. At the same time, Barricade thrust up, ramming the top of his head into Nemesis's chin, throwing the other bot's head back with a resounding crack. It was enough force to have Nemesis stumble back a step.

It was the opening the others needed. Nightbird flashed in like a dark shadow, her gravestone-grey armour blending nearly perfectly with the night. The steel of her short, serrated blades flashed bright before they plunged into vulnerable joints on Nemesis's frame. They were attacks meant to hobble the mech, but not kill him. Nemesis had done the wrong thing by attacking them in their home when they had the little ones about; now he was going to pay for it with a long, painful death. She attacked several times, expertly evading as Nemesis swung to capture her. The moment the Dark Prime began to stumble, the nimble femme flipped away.

"Damn you," Nemesis murmured, stumbling a step. His hands rose to his wounds, but it wasn't energon that oozed out. A dark substance came forth, oozing like tar. It emitted a sulphurous stink that burned their olfactory sensors. A low growl rumbled from him, then he jerked straight, regaining his balance as if he had not just been thoroughly flayed through the joints.

Drift, a white ghost like the snow around him, ran in on silent feet. The air whistled as his long blade swung forward on a wide arc. Sparks erupted as the blade landed its mark, gouging across Nemesis's chest. Nemesis snarled, jerking away. Drift jumped back, drawing his sword for another attack. A quick jab forward, into his opponent's shoulder. Another one, aimed for the Shadow Prime's neck. The second attack never landed; a broad sword dropped from Nemesis's forearm, blocking the shot before it could land. A screech of metal rending against metal carried throughout Carnéval. Drift was not as strong nor as tall as Nemesis; even as he dug his feet in to the frozen ground and forced all his weight behind his blade, the Dark Prime bore down on him with a vengeance.

Roulette extended her right arm, shifting the metal into a gun. "I can get his head from here."

Flamewar clenched her hand around the femme's arm. "Even if you take it off, I'm not sure he'll die."

"I'm betting it'll slow him down," Roulette spat. Several shots went off, so loud that the sound waves rocked the sheets of ice and snow from the branches of the trees.

Drift jumped out of the way, landing in a low crouch. His azure blue optics blazed furiously.

Nemesis's head jerked to the side as each plasma strike hit its mark. Steam enveloped him, his armour hissing as super-charged plasma met the freezing cold air. He stumbled back a step. Arms pin-wheeling. Several moments passed while he was veiled by ghost-white steam. Like before, he regained his balance before falling. His hands came up, as if meaning to search for a head that shouldn't have been there anymore. A harsh wind swept over the cliff, blowing the shroud of steam away from Nemesis, revealing the impossible. He still possessed his head, the armour only slightly dented. Where the paint had been shot off, the metal burned white-hot. His head sat crooked atop his neck until he grasped it between his hands and cracked it around, setting it properly.

"Nice shot," he intoned, looking directly at Roulette.

"There's more where that came from," snarled the femme.

Nemesis opened his mouthplates to reply, but he never got the chance. Soundwave's fist came down like a warhead, striking the Dark Prime in the center of his slashed chest. The force of the attack took him off his feet, flinging him straight over the side of the cliff to the frigid surf a hundred feet below.

"Remind me never to piss you off," Nightbird said lowly, eyeing Soundwave with a wary respect.

Soundwave growled, his smouldering visor flashing. "Keep your guard up. He never hit the bottom."

An astrosecond passed where the Decepticon-Neutrals did what they did best- they armoured up for battle. Swords, daggers, guns, and claws came to bear in the night. Battlemasks flipped into place. Their cloaks were tossed to the ground, making sure the tarps wouldn't restrict their movements when they went into for the kill.

The sound of reality ripping open wrought the cold air. A gaping hole opened in the darkness with the blaze of two red optics within.

"Flamewar, behind you!" Barricade roared.

Flamewar twisted, wasting no time to leap on Nemesis. She never got to fight him when he and his energy leeches had attacked the oil rig, so she was finally getting the chance to rip his faceplate off. Her claws dug in and started gouging everything she could reach. Roulette was with her, nearly as tall as Flamewar herself, and though she was best trained as a sniper, she was happy to get her hands dirty by ripping into Nemesis's back. Bright flashes lit the night as she unloaded a couple rounds of plasma into Nemesis's back pointblank.

"What's the matter, Nemesis? Not fighting back?" Flamewar sneered, her sharp, needle-like armour digging in painfully to the monster's frame. She made sure to hit ever vulnerable spot she could think of. "You're not as strong as you look, are you?"

"On the contrary," said the dark Prime, sounding quite normal for a mech who had two femmes ripping him apart. "I am merely an expert at hiding my strength." He reached back to take Roulette by her head, jerking her away from his frame. She was pulled around to the front, kicking and screaming. He regarded her for a moment, as if measuring her worth, and then snapped her neck.

"Roulette!" Flamewar screamed as she watched the femme's limp frame be tossed to the side.

Nightbird rushed to the other femme's side, hands flying over the cloud-grey armour in a panic. Roulette's optics flickered dimly, the light weak and fading. By some small miracle, she wasn't dead. Her neck had only been twisted so far as to paralyse her from the neck down. It was something she could recover from if a medic got to her quick enough. Nightbird took the fallen femme carefully into her arms and hauled her to safety, hiding them both in the shadows of the trees.

"Fascinating, isn't it? The fine line between life and death," Nemesis said calmly as he reached down and ripped Flamewar away from his frame. Not to be overpowered by a freak, Flamewar hissed and spat like a wild thing. She twisted and writhed while kicking and clawing at everything within reach. Nemesis's grip did not falter, despite the struggling. He continued on as if he did not have one of the most volatile femmes in the universe trapped in his grip. "Imagine if I had twisted her neck just a little farther, the neural cords to her processor would have been severed, causing a neural cascade, overloading her entire neural net. She would have burned out." He canted his head at his captive. "If only I had twisted a little farther..."

"Let me go, you glitch!" Flamewar snarled, planting the sharp heel of her foot into the center of the Dark Prime's faceplate. Sick satisfaction hit her when she felt the crunch of metal buckle beneath the attack. "You'll pay for what you did to her!"

Nemesis turned his faceplate away, letting her heel fall back. His battlemask was dented, but he showed no signs of acknowledging the damage. No rage radiated from him, nor fury, or even a thirst for battle. As he gazed upon the twisting femme, there was only a distant curiosity in his gaze matched by a sick fascination.

"Flamewar!" Barricade howled, launching forward.

Nemesis shifted his grip on his prisoner to free a single hand, withdrawing a blaster from subspace and shooting Barricade pointblank in the chest. "That was for the headbutt."

The searing agony that erupted through Flamewar caused her to scream, writhing for a new reason as her sparkbond felt like it caught fire inside her. Barricade's frame collapsed on the ground, curling into a protective ball around his exposed spark.

"You fragger!" Flamewar screamed. "I'll kill you! I will fragging kill you!"

"I highly doubt that," Nemesis Prime replied evenly. His expression did not change as he reached down with his free hand, placing his hand against Flamewar's spinal column. In one clean jerk, he thrust his fingers through her armour and grasped her spinal column, twisting it in quick snap. The femme's screams took on a new pitch as she felt fire and ice race through her frame. Her optics flashed in shock, her mouthplates gaping in one silent scream, before her neural net was overpowered and she passed out.

"Imagine what would have happened if I had twisted a little farther," Nemesis chuckled softly as he regarded the limp form dangling from his hands. Under his palms, he could feel the darkness still radiate from the femme's frame. She was ugly inside, scarred and festering, holding on to an old hatred she probably never would let go of. It was a delicious kind of infection that he wanted to reach in and foster. Sadly, now was not the time.

"Put the femme down, Nemesis."

Upon hearing the grating order, Nemesis's gaze lifted to regard the two bots left standing. Drift lifted his blade an inch higher. Soundwave braced his feet apart, waiting for the right moment to strike. The corners of Nemesis's mouthplates turned up a little higher.

"I'll set her down in a moment," he said. "Right now, you're going to listen to what I what to say. That is... unless you want to end up like her? If so, you're welcome to attack now."

Looking like it cost him greatly to perform the simple gesture, Soundwave inclined his head in acquiesce. "State your purpose here."

Nemesis nodded in return, his smile graciously cruel. He looked so much like Optimus Prime it was disgusting. "I knew I was right to come here. You're so much more reasonable than the Autobots."

Soundwave pressed his mouthplates together, remaining silent. Now was not the time to be doing something foolish when some of his best warriors were down.

"I am here to deliver a message, so listen carefully," Nemesis said softly. "The Expansion is coming. If the power of the Allspark is brought to me willingly and concedes to the Darkness, I will ensure that your kind survives the End."

"We will never give you the Allspark," Drift spat.

Nemesis regarded them indifferently. "Then your sparks will be consumed."

With his message delivered, Nemesis took a step back, then another. Behind him, a tear in reality appeared and he stepped through it, taking Flamewar with him. Soundwave and Drift shot forward in an attempt to get the femme back, but the portal closed before they could reach her. An instant later, another portal opened over the cliff, Flamewar's limp frame held out over the freezing Atlantic ocean.

"Consider my offer carefully, Decepticons. There are some fates worse than death."

Then he dropped her.

"Flamewar!" Drifted exclaimed, jerking toward the cliff. He was shoved back violently by Soundwave.

"I will get her," said the jet, transforming and taking to the sky. He shot through the place that Nemesis had been moment before in midair, and then took a sharp turn downward toward the frigid ocean below. The water churned and frothed, tossing violently where Flamewar had already been swallowed by the surf.

Nightbird came out of hiding, Roulette in her arms. "Don't just stand there! We need to get Barricade and Roulette on to the _Loki_!"

Drift jerked into action once more, hefting Barricade's writhing weight into his arms. He followed Nightbird up the ramp, depositing the Saleen Mustang on a nearby table scattered with junk. Barricade showed no signs of consciousness other than to pant and spasm in agony. The light cast by his exposed spark was like a strobe light in panic mode.

Heavy footsteps pounded up the ramp, Soundwave appearing astroseconds later. He pushed himself into the cargo bay, nearly too large to fit. He was dripping with sea water, his vents heaving with white froth from the surf. He shook himself off to rid himself of the worst of the frigid salt water. Thankfully, he was still strong and hadn't been in the water long enough to be greatly affected. In his arms, Flamewar laid convulsing as thermal shock took hold. She was in no condition to fight both her damages and the glacial temperatures her internals were plummeting to.

"Start the ship," Soundwave ordered as he laid Flamewar down. "Get to Nevada! We need proper medics for this."

Drift immediately did as he was bid. He was no medic, so the best he could do was pilot the ship.

Nightbird stood stubbornly, sizing Soundwave up. "I can help stabilize them."

Soundwave cast her a dark look. "I will call you when I need you. Help him get this ship in the air first."

The femme opened her mouthplates to argue, but quickly reconsidered. A fight at a time like this was stupid. Someone might die at any moment. She was gone in a flash, leaving Soundwave to care for three dying bots.

The roar of the _Loki_'s engines was grotesquely loud as they started up for the first time in several years. Sheets of ice and snow fell from the ship's sides, crashing to the ground in a flurry of white. Dried strands of moss and vines crumbled to dust.

Drift worked furiously on the unfamiliar controls to start up all the necessary systems. Nightbird joined him moments later, taking up control of the engines to push them to their limit. They needed to get in the air _now_! Groaning and crunching echoed through the halls as the many support beams attached to the outside of the ship crumbled. The small buildings that had been built alongside the ship shivered violently before collapsing into heaps of wood splinters and shrapnel. Hot steam from the starting engines poured out from the exhaust, melting the snow and throwing brittle trees to the ground.

Slowly, inch by inch, the _Loki_ was released from its ground-locked prison.

"Take us high," Drift ordered.

Nightbird nodded, concentrating on maximizing engine output.

Below them, they watched as the part of their home that existed above the cliff crumbled to the ground. The _Loki_ simply was too big for the earth to put up with the abuse of it moving around. Gigantic cracks appeared in the cliff, large slates of rock shifting downward. Some of the scaffolding along the cliff detached, flinging itself into the ocean. The ropes and welding holding their collections of ships together shook apart, tossing some of the large vessels away. They crashed into the base of the cliff, cracking their hulls and slowly sinking to their watery graves. Nightbird and Drift looked on with solemn remorse.

"We don't have time for this," growled the femme, returning her attention to flying the ship.

Drift sighed, having no choice but to do the same.

Unlike the first time the Decepticon-Neutrals flew across the North American continent in the _Darksyde_, their second trip was much more covert- and _much_ faster. The _Loki_ was in good condition and still retained its warp capabilities. High atmospheric flight was little trouble for the merchant ship. Miles above the Earth, concealed by clouds and distance, the _Loki_ flew nearly too fast to be seen or registered on the humans' primitive instruments. Their only trouble came when their struck low flying satellites, sending them spiralling off course.

Not long into the desperate flight, the comms system crackled to life.

"_Are we stabilized in the air?"_ Soundwave enquired.

"Yes," Drift answered.

"_Good. Nightbird, I need you down here now,"_ Soundwave ordered.

"I'll be there in an astrosecond," shouted the femme, abandoning her station to run for the exit. She paused before she left, fixing Drift with a piercing glare. "Get us there in one piece before someone dies or so help me- you will wish Nemesis killed you." She was gone, the door hissing shut behind her as she transformed and screamed off down the hall as a Dodge Tomahawk V10 superbike.

Drift gritted himself as he divided his attention between all the necessary commands it took to fly a ship like the _Loki_. It was a merchant ship, specifically designed so that a single bot could fly it if necessary. The only setback was that Sideswipe had modified so much of the bridge to suit his personal tastes that it was nearly indecipherable to someone who was not familiar with the red mech's unusual quirks.

Another low satellite dinged off their hull.

"_Keep it steady, Drift,"_ Soundwave ordered, his normally monotone voice turning gritty as he worked furiously to keep his comrades alive.

"I'm trying," replied the white mech.

"_Try harder!"_ Nightbird snarled.

Drift spared all but a moment to close his optics and cycle in a fortifying drag of cold air. He forced his mind to settle and his hands to steady. It was no easy feat to summon his composure while his mind raced with the replay of what had just happened moments before. Eventually, he managed to level the ship, flying as fast as he dared. The distance between the Labradorean coast and Nevada was disappearing faster than one could blink. The thin air around the hull of the ship boomed loudly as the sound barrier shattered.

A console bleated loudly as someone tried to contact the ship. Drift cursed, searching the many controls and commands around him for the right buttons to connect to the channel. He found the correct access commands and opened the channel, a small monitor on the low console to his left fizzing black and white for a moment before Sideswipe's wild faceplate materialized.

"_What happened!"_ the Autobot demanded.

"Nemesis attacked," Drifted reported through a gritted jaw.

"_Oh Primus,"_ Sideswipe breathed, looking over his shoulder. Drift could not see beyond the red mech, but he assumed that Sunstreaker was lurking in the background. Sideswipe returned his gaze to the screen. _"You're coming here now, right? You're flying the_ Loki?"

"There was no other choice," Drift said. "Many are hurt. They're dying. We will be arriving in a few breems for treatment. Tell your people to stand down; we need help, not hostility."

Sideswipe turned determined, nodding once. _"You got it. Ratchet and Virus will meet you when you get here. I'll send you co-ordinates to land-."_ He typed something in to the console on his side. A moment later, it flashed into one of the screens on the _Loki'_s bridge.

"Got it," Drift announced.

"_Good."_ Sideswipe moved to shut the transmission down, but at the last moment, he jerked his gaze up. _"Who's hurt, Drift?" _

"Sideswipe-."

"_Just tell me." _

The sharpness in Sideswipe's voice was enough to force Drift to relent. "Barricade had his sparkcase shot open. Roulette's spinal column was snapped from the neck down."

"_Is she-?" _

"Alive... for now."

Sideswipe sagged, nodding. _"Flamewar?" _

Drift looked away, flinching as yet enough satellite bounced off the hull. "Her spinal column was snapped waist down, and then she was tossed into the ocean."

"_Damn,_" Sideswipe cursed. _"How bad is it_?"

"She's in thermal shock, but hasn't gone into stasis yet," Drift said. "Soundwave is doing everything he can to keep all of them alive until we get there."

"_Get them here as fast as you can- I don't care if you have to blow the_ Loki's _engines out if you have to. Ratchet and Virus will be able do the rest."_ Sideswipe cut the feed, looking determined to stop the world if he had to in order to ensure the _Loki'_s safety upon arrival.

When the sprawling EDC compound came in to view, Drift was relieved to find that Sideswipe had been good to his word; no one tried to shoot them down. The suggested landing spot was cleared and a small crowd had gathered at the edges. From the looks of them, they were mostly Cybertronian. Some organic aliens dotted the landscape, and more than a few stopped what they were doing on base in order to gape at the graffiti monster flying overhead. Drifted steeled himself for the landing, yet again cursing Sideswipe for rearranging the commands on the _Loki_.

"_Easy, Drift!"_ Nightbird squawked as the cargo bay she was working in jolted violently.

"That _was _easy," Drift growled. He shut the engines down and hurried out of the bridge, moving straight for the cargo bay. By the time he got there, it was already empty. As he came down the ramp, he saw Ratchet and a small contingent of bots rushing for the med bay with three hovering berths laden with unmoving cargo.

Those who remained were mostly familiar. Humans and other organics quickly dispersed when they realized the action was over. The Cybertronians who remained appeared grave. Optimus Prime had come out to meet the _Loki,_ as did his mate. There was also a minibot present sporting splotched paint, his upper-half a dreadful black colour while his lower-half was bright yellow. It was not a very attractive paint job, though the black somehow drew one's gaze to it like a black hole.

Immediately, Drift bowed for the Prime. "I'm sorry we did not send sooner word of our arrival."

"You did what you needed to do," Optimus replied, inclining his head. "At least you did not inspire a mass panic like the last flight from Carnéval did."

"We tried to stay out of sight, though I fear I might have hit more than enough satellites on the way down," Drift murmured, straightening from his bow.

"Blaster is taking care of the disruptions as we speak." Optimus informed. "Thankfully, you only knocked them off course instead of straight out of the sky; it will be a simple enough matter to guide the satellites back into place. The humans never take kindly to us disrupting their way of life."

"Yes, I don't imagine they would," Drift replied quietly. He was reminded of the children that had so narrowly escaped death. Had the symbiotes gotten them all back to town in one piece? Were the adult humans there blaming them for the trauma their children suffered? Perhaps it was time for him to move on again, return to Tibet where he could be alone and away from this war? His heavy thoughts must have shown on his expression, because Elita took his hand and squeezed it gently.

"You're worried for the others?" she asked.

Drift blinked, wondering if she had read his mind, then decided it was obvious enough that he should have been worrying for his comrades. He conceded with a small nod.

"Ratchet is a skilled medic," said the femme. "He won't let anything happen to them."

"That _is _a relief," admitted the white bot. "While I have much faith in Virus's abilities, she does not tend to inspire much faith in preserving the sanctity of life. Ratchet, I am sure, will do his best."

"We can head to the med bay to wait for any news," Optimus suggested diplomatically, gesturing for Drift to walk by his side. Elita One and the minibot, who Drift was surprised to identify as Bumblebee, fell in line behind them.

Bumblebee made a quiet noise deep in his chest. "It was Nemesis who attacked you, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was," Drift replied, arching an optic ridge at the oddly painted minibot. "How did you guess?"

"Nemesis has taken to attacking Cybertronian establishments as of late," Optimus informed grimly. "So far, it has only been larger EDC co-opted bases. We thought he planned to only attack Autobot affiliated places, but that is obviously not the case if he attacked Carnéval. I am sorry for the damages he has caused."

Elita cleared her vents quietly. "Sideswipe tried to warn you of the attacks."

Drift glanced back at the Prime's mate as she walked directly behind him. "We received a call just before Nemesis came. I was not aware who called."

Optimus sent his mate a covert look. "I did not know Sideswipe had done anything like that. How did you know?"

Elita looked away. "I told him to. I had a feeling... but I didn't know it would be too late. I'm sorry the call didn't come sooner."

"It's the thought that counts," Drift murmured. There wasn't much else he could say. "Nemesis, though... He made his demands very clear. He wants the Allspark."

"He wants _Sam._" Metal chinked as Bumblebee clenched his fists tight enough to lock the joints. Was it a trick of the light, or did Bumblebee's optics flash red? The black of his armour seemed to turn darker in the night. The jagged edges where black bled into yellow started to writhe farther down on his frame.

Elita's hand shot out, circling Bumblebee's wrist in a crushing grip. She fixed the scout with a look that clearly said a thousand words that Drift would not understand. He respectfully looked away, duly noting Optimus Prime's momentary tension while his sparkmate did whatever she was doing with Bumblebee. Someone sucked in a deep drag of air, exhaling it shakily. The tension in the little scout's frame leached out.

"We will never hand Sam over," Bumblebee gritted out.

"Of course not," Optimus said.

The med bay was not far from the outskirts of the base, arranged that way for when injured bots were coming in and needed medical attention immediately. It made for a short walk to the building. The quartet did not enter the side door, but continued down the alley into the square courtyard in the back, formed by the meeting of the med bay with the backs of four other buildings. It was semi-private, but not empty. Soundwave leaned against one wall, looking like a towering demon as the shadows wrapped around him. The alley was too narrow for him to fit through, so he must have dropped in via his jet form.

"Any news?" Optimus immediately asked.

"Barricade, Flamewar, and Roulette are critical, but treatable," Soundwave replied in his usual monotone. "If they survive, they will recover. It will take time, though."

"At least they'll live," Elita intoned. She looked quite relieved with the knowledge of Flamewar's welfare; despite their intense differences, the connection forged by helping to save each other from Shockwave years before had made them friends of a sort.

"There is another matter I wish to discuss," Soundwave said. "Nemesis and his rash of attacks. Blaster has already given me transcripts from the reports at Seoul and Bush."

"And?" Optimus prompted.

The jet's red visor flashed. "In the past two attacks, he only made demands for the Allspark to be handed over."

"Drift indicated that he made the same demand to you," Optimus said, inclining his head to the white Neutral who settled back against one of the walls. Elita moved to Optimus's side, while Bumblebee instinctively moved to the mouth of the alley, making sure that no one came to eavesdrop.

"Previously, it was only demands. To us, he gave an ultimatum," Soundwave intoned gravely.

"An ultimatum?" Elita canted her head, her mouthplates pursed. Then dawning understanding came across her faceplate. "He came to you because you're Decepticons!"

"Yes," rumbled the jet.

Elita's faceplate furrowed deeply. "He gave you the opportunity to join him, then?"

"In exchange for the Allspark," Soundwave confirmed darkly. "He indicated that we would be much more reasonable than dealing with Autobots... More willing to give him what he wanted in exchange for our lives."

Bumblebee subtly tensed, gearing up to attack if there was a possible threat to Sam. Lately, he was unreasonably easy to incite whether he wanted to be or not.

"Bumblebee," Elita shushed, subtly raising her hand to stay him.

He blinked, snapping from the haze of red that had come over his vision. He took a step back, bowing his head. He murmured an apologetic, "Sorry."

Soundwave spared the exchange only a glance before he returned his attention to Optimus. "However, Nemesis was mistaken. We are no longer Decepticons and we were not receptive to his offer."

Drift switched his solemn blue gaze to Bumblebee. "We would _never_ hand over Sam."

Bumblebee nodded meekly, keeping his head down.

"I sense there is more," Optimus observed, frowning.

Soundwave rumbled deeply. "I compared the transcripts to make sure; Nemesis did not elaborate his purposes during his previous attacks. It was formulaic: attack, make his demands, leave. For us, he attacked to subdue us, but then stayed to deliver an ultimatum. He spoke of an 'expansion', as if it were an event."

"He mentioned that failing to join him would result in our sparks would be consumed," Drift added. "It struck me as odd when he said it."

"Reference to Unicron?" Optimus asked, his optic ridges furrowed.

"Possibly," Soundwave said.

"Or it could be something more," Elita mused worriedly.

The leader of the Decepticon-Neutrals lurched forward, uncrossing his thick arms from around his chest. "Whatever the case may be, we must keep in mind that the Allspark is the key. Nemesis wants it and unlike the Fallen, he has outright attacked us with fists and guns. He's proven that he doesn't need the kremzeeks or energy leeches to take us down- he can take down our best warriors with his bare hands."

Optimus ran a hand over his faceplate, contemplating the matter. "It is curious that Nemesis plays these games with us when he is powerful enough to take the Allspark by force."

"If Sam was taken by force, he could fight back. He's too powerful for anyone to try to handle him against his will," Elita said. "I'm willing to bet that Nemesis needs Sam to come to him willingly- that's why he's been attacking outposts. He's trying to force our hand."

Drift rumbled darkly. "It won't be long before he starts outright killing to get what he wants."

Soundwave scowled behind his ever-present battlemask. "The Allspark is human now. How long do you think it will be before he feels guilty enough to try to give himself up? How long will it be before Nemesis uses one of the Allspark's loved ones to force his hand? He should be locked up for his own protection."

"That is one option..." Optimus said, but did so reluctantly, looking uncomfortable with the prospect.

A subtle gasp in the alley drew Bumblebee's attention. Someone was near. He scanned the area and found no life signs. A flash of blue light glittered for a second, and then a shadow ran out.

"Sam!" Bumblebee gasped, taking off after his best friend.

Sam was fast for a human, managing to evade Bumblebee for several blocks until the scout transformed and took off after the human in alt mode. As a Camaro, he was able to run Sam down and veer in front of him, cutting off his escape. He swerved so fast that Sam didn't have time to skid to a halt. There came an obnoxiously loud '_thump!_' as he collided with Bumblebee's flank. He hit the ground hard, the back of his head smacking the sidewalk hard enough for him to see stars. His palms burned where skin had been scraped off in the fall.

"I'm so sorry, Sam!" Bumblebee transformed quickly, kneeling to the ground. Sam didn't look to be in the mood for listening. In spite of the possible concussion he might be now suffering from, he struggled to his feet in an attempt to run. Bumblebee caught him between his palms, holding him tight enough to prevent escape. In the glare of his headlights, Sam's complexion was pale and waxy. Dark bruises of exhaustion ringed his glowing eyes.

"Primus, Sam, I didn't mean to hit you!" Bumblebee exclaimed.

Sam shook his head, the whites of his wild blue eyes turning bloodshot. He was panting like a wild animal from the effort of the run. "Is it true? Are you going to lock me up?"

Bumblebee jerked back in surprise. "How did you-?"

"I scrambled my bio-signature again," Sam admitted guiltily, his expression strained. "I wanted to find out what was going on. Prowl and Jazz wouldn't say anything to me. No one will say anything to me anymore." Ironic that he was complaining about something like that when he continued to exempt all peoples from his confidence.

"That's not what I meant," Bumblebee murmured, his hands tightening around his friend. "Sam... how did you know what Soundwave said? We weren't speaking English."

It took a moment for Bumblebee's words to sink in, and when they finally did, Sam's expression turned stricken. What little colour was in his face drained out, leaving him a sickly beige colour that made his too-blue veins stand out starkly. This was the first time in weeks that the scout had been near Sam without anyone monitoring them- he was almost horrified to see what had become of his best friend.

"No. _No_, I heard you. I _understood _you," Sam choked.

"You understood Cybertronian," Bumblebee said, completely bewildered and a little frightened. He ducked his head, switching his lingual files to his native tongue: **"Do you understand me now?"**

Sam's muscles jumped as if he had been electrocuted, every hair on his body standing up.

**"Sam? I'm speaking Cybertronian right now. Do you understand me?" **

Sam gripped the sides of his head, fingers tangling in his hair so tightly as to pull the follicles out. "No. No, no, no- this isn't happening. I didn't understand you!"

Bumblebee switched back to English, his spark feeling as if it were flipping in his sparkcase. "I think you did understand me, Sam."

A panicked keening noise came from the human.

Bumblebee could feel uncontrolled power tingling up through his palms. Wherever his hands touched Sam, it was like being hooked up to a live wire. Sam himself was starting to throw sparks off his skin. "Sam, you have to calm down. You're going to hurt yourself!"

Sam wasn't listening. He hunched over, gripping himself tightly like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart. Whereas Bumblebee had been devolving into a state of easily incited rage, Sam had gone down a different route. His natural ways for dealing with stress through humour and venting to Mikaela were gone. Now he was automatically switching to panic attacks. Gasping air. Locked lungs. Burning throat. Black spots in his wavering vision. Dizziness overtaking him.

"I don't want to be locked up!" he gasped, like a sob. "I just want to be human!"

He sounded more like a child than an adult.

Bumblebee sat down on the street corner with a thump, glad for the night because few were around to witness the scene. Sam was too high-ranking of an individual for it to get around that he was freaking out in the middle of the street. He brought Sam to his chest and pressed him there in a gentle hug. Sam's arms automatically went out to wrap around Bumblebee's front, clinging to him fiercely. When his eyes began to water, he squeezed them shut, desperately trying to keep the energon-tears at bay. He didn't want anyone to see how much of a freak he was.

"Sam, listen to me very carefully: you _are_ human," Bumblebee said quietly. "No matter what happens to you, you will always be human."

Sam shook his head.

Bumblebee sighed, aching for his friend. "Even if you don't believe it, I still made you a promised a long time ago to never let anyone treat you less than human," he said, trying to sooth his friend. "Things are happening that we don't understand, but we'll figure this out. I won't let you be locked up like some kind of prisoner. I won't let them treat you like you're not human."

"Nemesis is going to kill because of me," Sam croaked brokenly. "People are going to _die_."

"Don't think about it," Bumblebee begged. "This isn't your fault." On his resonance scanners, several spark signatures were approaching. Optimus and his group from the south, Jazz and Prowl from the east. He held Sam closer to himself, lowering his head until he could whisper in the human's ear. "I'll figure something out, Sam. You and I are brothers. We're _family_. I promised I would protect you, and I swear I will do everything in my power to keep Nemesis away from you."

Sam cinched his arms tighter around Bumblebee's chest, his little fingers digging into the metal.

Optimus came into sight down the street, his expression solemn as he approached.

Just behind Bumblebee's shoulders, Prowl and Jazz materialized from the shadows. Jazz crouched, extending one clawed hand to grasp Bumblebee's shoulder. "Bee, it's time to let him go now."

Bumblebee took in a shuddering drag of air. He held Sam tight one last time before peeling the human away from his chest. "Remember what I promised."

Sam let a single tear slide down his cheek, revealing the bright blue streak of energon to only Bumblebee. He watched the scout's expression change to wonderment, but he knew he could trust the yellow bot to say nothing about it to anyone. His hand trembled as he lifted it to Bumblebee's faceplate, feeling the life and warmth of the metal radiate up through his palm. "I won't forget."


	23. To Reunions

Haha, Happy Birthday to me. ^_^ That aside, has anyone else noticed the Time Warp that FanFiction had been going through? Getting e-mail alerts for things days after they were submitted, or not getting them at all? I noticed that with the last chapter, reviews were appearing here, but not in my e-mail inbox. =/ I'm guessing if that is happening with me, then something similar is happening to you. Have some of you been missing e-mail updates for this story? If so, how very odd... I'm sorry if there have been readers missing out on chapters. Hopefully the site sorts out the mess soon. ^_^

Loves goes out to the magnificent writer H.P. Lovecraft and his Cthulhu mythos, as well as IDW and their hand in constructing some of the Transformers mythos. Oh, and love also goes out to **1bloodtempest** for taking a peek at this chapter and offering some honest opinions. ^_^

Major thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter. You know the drill by now: you are the wind in my sails, the surf to my surfboard, the unicorn to my dragon, and the bacon to my eggs. Believe me, there are more analogies, but I'll save them for later. All you need to know is my humble thanks goes to **TransformersLover95, femme4jack, Pruhana, Flameshield, Phoebe Turner, EmberLady, Standout4Christ, CNightJoy**, and **Frenzy5150**. Truly, you're all the Supermen to my Batman. ^_^

Read, Review, and Enjoy~

**May We Never Let Go  
To Reunions **

Mikaela was jolted from her light nap by a small pothole in the road. Hound's frame jolted, causing the side of her head to collide with the passenger side window. She jerked up in surprise, disoriented for a moment. A second later, her mind settled and she groaned, wiping at her mouth and cheek with her wrist, discovering the skin slick and wet. Eyeing the glass of the window, a distinct trail of slimy saliva travelled down it.

"_Oh my god,_" she breathed, staring at her own drool. She tugged the hem of her shirt up and wiped the wetness away in a futile hope that Hound might not have noticed.

"Oh good, you're awake," a deep voice intoned from next to her. A warm hand reached over and patted her on the knee kindly.

"Yeah," Mikaela groaned, scrubbing her eyes with her knuckles. She stretched long and hard, feeling like she was cracking every bone in her body. Her neck was sore from the odd angle it had been resting in.

"There's some water in the dash for ya," Hound said, his hologram nodding to the small compartment that popped open on its own. A water bottle with a mist of condensed water dripping around it was revealed. "Figured ya would have been thirsty when ya woke up."

"Thanks," Mikaela murmured, grabbing the bottle for a deep drink. She then gargled a mouthful to wash the stale taste of dog breath out of her mouth, rolled down the window, and spit the mouthful out. She was classy like that. Focusing on her surroundings, Mikaela noted that the buildings were all identical rectangular structures of corrugated metal covered in a dull shade of grey. The blast of heat that hit her from the rolled down window was sickening, stinking of city smog, sweating asphalt, and baking metal. Despite being November, L.A. was unseasonably hot in a wretched kind of way, like hell itself was rising. She jerked away and let Hound roll up the window. The moment the glass was up, the air conditioning turned a couple degrees colder, balancing the heat that had just invaded the cab. Mikaela eyed the wet streak that remained on the window.

"Sorry about the drool," she sighed.

"It's fine," Hound assured.

"But-."

Hound patted her knee again. "If it bothered meh, Ah would have woken ya up. Drool is not the worse thing Ah have ever had in mah cab."

Mikaela smiled softly, appeased somewhat... and then felt a pang of pity when she thought about all the other awful things that had been spilled in Hound's cab over the years. Food, drinks, paint, oil, mud, blood, puke... other various bodily excretions. She didn't recall him ever getting upset about any of that stuff- at least never to her face. It took a lot to get him going.

Looking out the window again, she spied skyscrapers in the distance. The dark vertical lines danced on the horizon as heat waves distorted them. With a slight pout, she asked, "I missed all the interesting parts of L.A., didn't I?"

"Mostly."

"Darn." She huffed quietly.

"Ya looked so peaceful sleeping, Ah didn't want ta wake ya. It was the first real sleep you've managed ta get since we left," Hound said apologetically.

"It's fine. I can see the city when we drive back through," Mikaela replied lightly. "How close are we to Angel Parts?"

"Ten minutes or so," Hound replied.

Mikaela turned the water bottle around in her hands, picking at the label with her short fingernails. "When did you get the water?"

"Not long ago," said the Autobot. "Ah had ta stop for a little bit and figured getting ya some water was the least Ah could do."

"You're always doing nice things like that," Mikaela said softly, shaking her head.

"Ah'll try harder ta be inconsiderate next time," Hound chuckled.

Mikaela rolled her eyes. "Why did you stop in the first place? Did something happen?"

"Blaster sent meh an update from home," sighed the scout. "It was serious enough that Ah thought it best ta pull over while communicating with him."

A frown pulled Mikaela's lips down. "Is something going on?"

"Nothing we can't handle," Hound replied, not entirely convincing.

Mikaela knew that he was doing exactly what Sam, Chase, and everyone else was doing; he was trying to shield her from the worst of the war. This time around, Mikaela kept her temper in check. She didn't have the heart to start raging on the poor bot. Instead, she reached across and laid her hand over his holographic one. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Just keep smiling for meh, bright spark," Hound said softly. "Ah know everything's gonna be okay when ya smile."

She blushed and looked down at her lap, a smile tugging on her lips.

The holoform smiled crookedly. "Ya might want ta fix yourself up, too. We're almost ta the warehouse."

"Oh, right." She straightened in her seat, tugging her grubby tank top into place and untwisting her too-large jeans. She'd taken a hint from Chase's own fashion sense, purposely dressing down for the occasion. If the men at Angel Parts were going to be sexist pigs, she was going to give them as little ammo as possible to work with. She looked the part of a hardcore tomboy who'd just driven forty-eight hours non-stop in the cab of a truck.

Reaching up, she flipped down the sun visor in Hound's cab to keep the sun out of her eyes, only to have a cascade of pictures fall into her lap. With a surprised gasp, she scrambled to pick the photographs up before they were ruined. One picture in particular caught her attention. It was her high school graduation; she was still in her graduation robes, her diploma held out proudly. Chase was at her left shoulder, giving a thumbs-up to the camera, and Hound's hologram was at her right shoulder, giving a peace sign. They looked like a family.

Mikaela sent a covert glance in Hound's direction, noting that the hologram was watching her with a cheeky smile.

"Really, Hound?" she drawled, waving the picture at him with a laugh. He was a super-advanced robot who could make a thought into solid reality through holograms and he chose to keep a dinky little photograph with him like this?

"What can Ah say?" he replied haplessly. "Ah like ta keep mah girls close."

"You can be so strange sometimes," Mikaela admonished playfully. Nevertheless, she unclipped her seat belt and leaned across the center console to lay a quick peck to Hound's cheek, ignoring the metallic tang that lingered on her lips. "But you're still the best," she concluded, settling back in her seat.

Hound touched his cheek, laughing. "Ah'll keep that in mind."

Not even a minute later, he pulled into the parking lot of Angel Parts and parked near the entrance of the large, nondescript warehouse. A chain-link fence circled the property, with a coil of barbed wire circling above that. The pavement of the parking lot was dry and cracked, exposing sandy dirt below. Old junk cars rested in a couple parking spaces, silently baking in the heat.

Before Mikaela had a chance to reach for the door, it opened on its own. She hopped down and stretched again, straightening her clothes. She looked to the side where Hound's hologram was scanning the area with a narrowed stare. Blue light refracted in the air off of heat distortions, revealing that he was scanning the area in more than one way. Once he was sure the area was safe, he motioned for Mikaela to lead the way.

Steeling herself for whatever she was going to find, Mikaela stuck her chin up and her shoulders back, marching into the building like she owned the place. A sweltering stink was the first thing to hit her inside. There was no air conditioner, but the pitying hum of a dying fan buzzed in the corner as it worked to push hot air around. The familiar scents of rubber, oil, and metal were subsumed by a permeating stink of stale sweat and man-stink.

The front part of the warehouse they came into was a small office-type space. Its age was revealed in the yellowing of the walls, the peeling of paint in the corners, but the glass that lined one of the walls was clean enough to see the bulk of the warehouse extending out beyond. A single desk was pushed into the corner, and several beaten up chairs lined the walls. A pile of magazines from several different decades overflowed from a low table stuck between two chairs. Three men were already in the room, two of whose attention were instantly on Mikaela the moment they caught sight of her.

Mikaela kept her chin elevated as she bypassed the two men with silent grace. The third man in the room sat behind the desk, doing his best ignore everyone as he hid behind the Sports section of the newspaper. Mikaela waited for a polite thirty seconds for the guy to put his paper down. After that, she decided that decorum was overrated. Taking the top edge of the newspaper, she pinned it to the desk and fixed the man a fake smile.

Well, _tried_ to fix him with a fake smile.

Instead, it felt as if a bucket of ice had just been thrown in her face. A pair of eyes as black like tar and painfully familiar stared back at her. His face was familiar and alien at the same time. The lines in the skin were deeper, the texture leathery and pockmarked. A new scar travelled horizontally on his cheek, just below his cheekbone.

"D-dad?" Mikaela heard herself stutter.

David Banes blinked slowly, his expression neutral. There was no surprise in his gaze as he looked at his estranged daughter. He showed no reaction at all, other than to drop his shoulders and sigh expansively. "Long time no see, baby doll."

Feeling as if the axis of her world had suddenly violently shifted, Mikaela jerked away from the desk. Her heel caught on the frayed bottom of her pant leg, sending her sprawling backward. A pair of warm, rough hands caught her by the arms, holding her steady against a solid chest.

"Mickey...?" Hound intoned worriedly, keeping her upright.

Jumping away, she flapped her hand to shut him up. She didn't even want to hear his voice at the moment. It was too much to hear him, the alien who had been the father she needed for the last decade, while standing in the same room as her biological father, the man who had walked away without looking back. Her mind scrambled to come up with some kind of explanation. How could he be here and she never knew it? L.A. was a two day drive away and her father never even bothered to call? Had Chase known? Probably not. Mikaela shot an accusatory glance in Hound's direction. If anyone should have known, it would have been him. But Hound looked as stunned as she.

"Unexpected family reunion, huh?" David said, his voice scratchier than the last time Mikaela had heard it.

Mikaela's mouth opened and closed, but she couldn't force any words out.

David sat back with a groan, running a hand over the bristles of his shaved head. "You just never know who you're going to run into these days." He looked older now, more careworn. New tattoos took up space on his exposed skin, travelling up the sides of his neck and filling in space on his arms.

"H-have you been here all this time?" Mikaela asked weakly. Distantly, she heard the sound of a door opening and knew that the two other men were making a hasty exit. The atmosphere of the room had turned a shade too uncomfortable for their liking. Hound, on the other hand, stayed close, looking torn over what to do.

David leaned forward in his chair, bracing his big arms on the desk. "Haven't been here long- a couple of months, at most. Just working under the table," he said. "Working up enough money to pay off some debts. The usual stuff."

"Oh." Mikaela grimaced, knowing too well what kinds of debts her father might owe. Money. Drugs. Stolen car parts. The kind of stuff she thought she had gotten away from when he'd went to jail and Chase had taken over as her guardian. Now she didn't know what to do. This man was her _father_. She was supposed to love him no matter what, right? She was supposed to be happy to see him and know he was alive. Instead of happiness and relief, she was confused and numb.

"Guess you're here for that order, right?" David said, managing to sound almost casual. He looked back and forth between Mikaela and Hound, suspicion lurking in his gaze, which burned Mikaela. He didn't have a right to be disproving of any person she kept in her company. He gave up that right a long time ago when he thought he could walk away and never look back.

"Yeah, the order. It can be put in the back of the Jeep Gladiator out there," Mikaela said lowly, swallowing the thick lump in her throat.

"Alright."

Taking a deep breath through her nose, Mikaela tried to put up a strong front. She didn't want to feel like she was the one doing something wrong by being there. "You knew I was coming for it, didn't you?"

David pressed his lips together, nodding. "Saw the name on the order. Knew it had to be you and Chase."

"You _knew _where I was."

The man that was her father nodded again, this time silently.

"Why didn't you ever call?" Mikaela pressed, blinking several times to keep the stinging in her eyes at bay. The burning heat in her cheeks and chest had nothing to do with the ungodly heat of the tiny office. God, she didn't want to cry in front of him.

David looked away. "I wanted to, baby girl."

"What was stopping you?"

"Everything. Things on my side just got mixed up, and then you with the aliens..." He looked up at her pleadingly. "You understand, don't you?"

She looked to the side, forcing the tears welling in her eyes to stay away. "It was better to pretend I didn't exist than to give me a call once in a while?"

"That isn't what I meant," David sighed.

"But that's exactly how it was," Mikaela replied. Her chin trembled, threatening the spill of tears. A hand grasped her own, giving it a squeeze. She sent Hound a pained but grateful smile before she forced herself to face her father again.

"Baby doll..."

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Please don't. You've had your chance for years now and you never took it. All I want to do now is pick up my order and get out of here." On the corner of the desk, there was a form with BANES printed at the top. She snatched it and immediately moved for the door to go into the back of the warehouse, staying proud with her head up and refusing to look back.

"Well, all right then, be that way," David drawled after her.

Hound felt his spark breaking for the young woman as he watched her go. He didn't have long to watch her, though. David's gaze had switched to him, eyeing him warily. No doubt he suspected the worst of his daughter and Hound's own intentions toward her. Dating someone nearly twice her age, or so it would seem to the human man. The mere thought churned sickly inside Hound. He had affection for Mikaela, but it was far from romantic.

"We've met before, haven't we?" David intoned carefully, much to Hound's surprise. David shouldn't have remembered much from their last encounter, given that Perceptor had wiped as much of David's memory as he could.

Deciding to indulge the human, Hound inclined his head stiffly. "We met once."

David's gaze dropped to the single gold band that wrapped around Hound's finger on his left hand. It was a design quirk he had added several years ago, liking the idea as much as he liked the aesthetic. Chase had yet to catch on.

"You're not...?" David's gaze flashed to Mikaela's back through the windows.

"No," Hound replied, scowling. "Definitely not."

David's leaned back, gauging the hologram with flat black eyes. His gaze kept darting between the holoform's face and the ring on his finger. Hound had far too much experience in war to blink under the scrutiny. He would let the human look, but he'd be damned if he blinked under the stare.

"Chase, then?" asked David.

Warily, Hound nodded.

"I see," said the human, something nasty glinting in his dark gaze.

Hound tensed, all too aware of the bad blood that existed between the Banes siblings. If he heard anything negative come out of the human's mouth, he was liable to forget he was a pacifist. Any little thing, really. It was surprising how quickly his normally infallible patience has eroded while in the presence of this one human.

David was not a stupid man. He knew danger when he saw it, and he knew saying anything about his sister at that moment would be very bad for his health. Smartly, he directed his gaze to window and eyed the parking lot. He jerked his head in that direction. "That's your truck out there?"

"Yes, it is," Hound replied tightly.

"It's nice."

"Thank you." A part of him wanted to transform and scare the slag out of the human.

"Drove Mikaela down out of the kindness of your own heart?" David asked, still the tone of suspicion in his voice.

"Yes, the kindness of mah heart," the Autobot growled, set farther on edge.

"I'm sure."

The sound of a rattling garage door echoing through the warehouse cut off whatever sharp retort was about to come out of Hound's mouth. A trolly with several boxes and wrapped parts was wheeled outside, Mikaela following closely on everyone's heels. Her face looked harsh in the sunlight, too much like her aunt. Even her honeyed eyes looked fierce. She was keeping herself together well, even as she glanced back and saw Hound and David watching her. Her chin went up and she looked away.

David looked his daughter up and down, taking in the scruffiness of her attire and appearance. He didn't look impressed. He shook his head, running the palm of his right hand over his rough face. "I guess I shouldn't have expected much from her. God bless the kid, but the role models she's had in her life..."

The last of Hound's patience evaporated completely. His hands came down on the desk with a loud smack. "Don't talk about her like that_."_

David looked stunned for a moment, recovering quickly to arch a thick brow. "Excuse me?"

"I said that's enough."

"Don't like an honest opinion?" David drawled shrewdly.

"Ah don't like your opinion," Hound said tightly. "Mikaela is your daughter and you should have more respect for her." He didn't even realize that his accent had disappeared, as it was wont to do when he was taken to the limit of his patience. All he knew was that he did not want to hear anything being said about his family. He didn't even want to hear anything _insinuated_ about them.

"It's because I'm her father that I'm being honest," David replied evenly. "You can't blame a girl for turning out the way she has when you know where she comes from. I'm man enough to admit she didn't come from good stock."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Hound countered firmly.

"Don't I?"

"Mikaela may have come from an unfortunate past, but she has grown into a smart, strong young woman. I thank Primus she hasn't taken after you in the least." He nearly spit the last words, but managed to keep even.

"And what make you think you know what you're talking about? You're just some guy shacking up with my sister. I'm Mikaela's damn father," David pointed out, a tad defensively.

"I was mistaken when I referred to you as her father," Hound said darkly. "You may have donated the DNA necessary to create her, but you gave up your rights to her when you walked away." He gestured to himself. "I've looked after that girl for years now. I've watched her grow up. I've protected her. I've taken care of her like she was my own daughter."

"You can't erase blood," David sneered.

Hound curled his lip in distaste. "Where I come from, it's not blood that matters."

David tensed, slowly rising from his seat. He was not the kind of man to let any slight against him go.

Hound braced himself, ready for a fight.

The door to the sweltering office swung open sharply, letting in a blast of hot, dry air. Mikaela stood silhouetted in the doorway, her red-rimmed eyes flashing as she looked back and forth between the two posturing males. A scowl fixed its way onto her face. Without looking directly at her father, she marched in and grabbed Hound's hand.

"Come on, they're done loading the order." She tugged him toward the door.

David started forward. "Mikaela-."

In a whirl, Mikaela shot David the most acidic look she could summon. "I don't want to hear it, _dad_. I only came here for car parts. Feel free never to contact me again- you're already an expert at it." She made sure to walk out of there with her head held high.

Hound sent David one last lingering glare, letting the human know exactly what would become of him if he ever tried to contact the Banes women. Just to be sure he got the message across, Hound e-mailed a virus to every electronic device the man owned.

* * *

Psi knew the moment Nemesis Prime arrived within the boundaries of his ship form because the sensation of his footsteps rattled too loudly and too heavily along the floors. Each strike was like a hot needle stabbing him.

Instinctually, the Fallen shifted the inner panels of himself to try and fault the mech, throwing him to the mercy of an endless fall inside the demon ship. Nemesis was not to be dismissed so easily. With each shift of the floor, he easily matched pace with an unerring grace that grated on Psi's nerves. The manner in which he moved was almost as if he were precognizant of Psi's movements. It was even more annoying that Nemesis was clearly _injured_. He should have at least been slowed down by his wounds, yet he maintain his _un_natural poise as if it were nothing.

How _boring._

Suddenly, the floor disappeared entirely from beneath Nemesis's feet. The Dark Prime offered no reaction to the impossible situation except to continue walking in mid-air as if nothing had happened. At one time, Psi might have been able to garner a rise out of the mech, but that was no more. The Dark Prime's will had become too great.

Nemesis paused as he passed Unicron's unmoving vessel, the rotting corpse of the once proud Lord Protector Megatron. He watched the still frame with too much interest. To much... _knowledge_. The Fallen did not like the attention his master was being fixed with- it did not feel right at all. To end it, he reformed his floors and slanted them to herd the Dark Prime away.

"Psi, one would almost think you don't want me here with all the moving around you're doing," said the Dark Prime as he finally came to the far side of the altar room, standing before the towering windows gaping like wounds in the ship's side. Earth loomed large and blue beyond, vulnerable in ways that the humans could never imagine.

"How astute of you to notice your own unwelcome presence. You're such a clever pet," Psi drawled, his consciousness condensing behind Nemesis. He was not in the mood for any of his more playful guises, so he returned to a classic that used to bring fear into the sparks of many; the form of a coal-black transformer whose armour smouldered with low, orange flames. It was disheartening to know that Nemesis would find not even the slightest amount of trepidation in any form Psi chose to take on.

Nemesis feigned innocence, turning over his shoulder to regard the spectre behind him. "Have I done something to incur your irritation, Fallen One?"

"Your existence irritates me," Psi replied with a huff.

"That is unfortunate," Nemesis replied coolly, then he inclined his head. "I don't believe I can correct that fault."

"I could," Psi replied darkly. Eventually, he would correct Nemesis's existence, snuffing it out with a relish. Not only was it his charge from the deities of Earth, but he himself desired the Dark Prime's destruction. He merely had to bid his time for the right moment to strike. If there was one thing that he was good at, it was setting up all his playing pieces in all the right places for the right moment to fall.

"You could try," Nemesis murmured, sounding very much like a taunt.

"Do not tempt me," Psi replied.

"Unicron would not approve."

Psi nearly laughed. "He would disapprove of your early termination when you've been so useful, but there would be none in this world to mourn you."

"There is only weakness in mourning." A soft snort drifted into the air. "If I have been useful, I cannot fathom your dislike of me."

"I need not explain myself to you." Psi could only attribute his growing dislike for the mech to a deepening sense of... _danger_ whenever Nemesis Prime was near. The mere fact alone were enough to spin the Fallen into a foul mood. Imagine, the right hand of Unicron, a dark god in his own right, made anxious by the presence of a mortal. The prospect was laughable if it were not so dire.

"I take it you are merely being irrational again, as your nature would dictate you to be," Nemesis said with a tone that simply _begged_ for Psi to throw him straight into a volcano.

Resisting that particularly tempting urge, the Fallen forced himself to switch subjects. "Where have you been, Nemesis?"

"Around," Nemesis replied nonchalantly. He continued to watch the windows, clearly unconcerned to have the Fallen's spectre behind him.

"You are toying with me," Psi growled.

There was movement across Nemesis's faceplate that might have been a smirk. Whatever the gesture truly was, Psi did not like it. He bristled, the cold flames of his spectral form flickering in agitation. It was a fight to resist the urge to take the mech and bash him repeatedly against a wall.

"If you must know," said the Dark Prime, dragging his blunt finger across the glass of the dark windows, "I was moving ahead with our ultimate goal. I am putting pressure on the Cybertronians to hand over the Allspark."

"By attacking the Cybertronians directly? Seems a little uncouth, don't you think?" Psi sniffed, turning his olfactory sensor in the air.

"It sounds up to _your_ speed," Nemesis shrugged indifferently.

"My game with Bumblebee was a little more high class than a hack and slash session with a bunch of misfits," the Fallen scorned. "I would have thought you had better taste."

"It's all part of the plan," Nemesis replied evenly. "I am demonstrating what will become of them if they don't hand over the Allspark. The choice is ultimately theirs; they may save themselves by handing the power over, or they may all perish. I think it is a rather simple choice, don't you think?"

Psi considered the mech's words, frowning. "Who are you to say who lives and dies? Unicron will consume them all."

"As you've said in the past, I have Nothing to say over who lives and dies," said the Dark Prime. "However, false hope is a useful tool in the hands of the right bot."

"Is it enough for them hand over the Allspark?" Psi wondered tersely. "The Autobots are stubborn; if they believe there is another way to save themselves, they won't give up so easily."

"It only means that every other possible avenue must be destroyed. They must see that our way is the only way," Nemesis intoned, touching his chest where the gouge Drift's blade had left slowly sealed itself. "The more pressure I place on the Cybertronians, the more pressure they shall undoubtedly impress upon the current vessel of the Allspark. He'll see the destruction caused by his mere existence and he'll want to stop it. He'll hand himself over, if only to spare the others."

"What if pressuring them is not enough?" Psi pressed.

"Slaughtering usually gets bots' attention," Nemesis said easily.

"I've known the Cybertronian species for a lot long than you, Nemesis. They nearly slaughtered themselves to extinction before they realized the futility of their own war." Psi laughed cruelly. "I wonder how many you would have to kill before they give in? A dozen? A hundred?"

Nemesis scowled, seeming to take the information into consideration. He clasped his arms behind his back and contemplated his next move. After a fashion, he finally said, "Perhaps I need only kill one."

"One?" Psi snorted. "It would have to be a very important bot for the Allspark to be handed over. Would you kill the Prime?"

"He would be an excellent target, yes," Nemesis conceded pensively. "However, he is not the one I want. Do you not recall why I was brought to this world?"

Psi paused, surprised to find that he had momentarily forgotten why Nemesis had been created. He had been meant to be the playing piece that could play directly on the board. Whereas Psi was restricted to direct contact with only his own designated species, a mortal had no such restrictions. Nemesis clearly had less restrictions than any mortal Psi had ever previously knew, a detail the Fallen had not anticipated in the least.

Nemesis made a quite noise. "The Allspark is human, and what needs to be done is to hit him in his weakest spot- hit him in his human heart."

Understanding dawned across the Fallen's spectre. "How exceedingly cruel of you."

"It will be effective nonetheless," Nemesis replied. "If all goes as planned, all that he holds dear will be turned to dust."

"And your fascination with Bumblebee?" Psi wondered.

"He thinks himself as mortal as the rest of them and acts as predictably as them. He will come to me," Nemesis said, self-assured of the plan. "With everything taken away from Sam, he will be broken."

"The broken so easily become the corrupt," Psi intoned knowingly. From experience, he knew how easy it was to slip beneath the cracks of a broken bot and lay an infection to fester.

"He will be mine."

"Ours," Psi corrected sharply.

There was a pause, and then Nemesis inclined his head mockingly. "That is what I meant."

He glanced back for a moment, and the look in his optics was... disturbing. Too much knowledge there. He knew too much for someone who had only existed for such a short time. There was darkness behind the light the likes of which Psi had never seen. Not for the first time, Psi felt the haunting drift of power radiate through the air from the mech. There was something not quite right about Nemesis Prime, even if Psi could not put words to his suspicions.

Deathly silence settled between them as Nemesis turned back to regard the Earth, leaving Psi to seethe on his own. Who the pit did this little speck of Nothing think he was? What right did he have to be so glib in front of such a powerful creature? For such insolence, Psi should have blotted him out of existence! Yet something kept him at bay. A creeping, crawling sense inside him, the same one that told him Nemesis was more than what he appeared to be, warned Psi away from ripping into him. Nemesis Prime had the power to kill immortals. There was no telling what else he could do.

"Psi, I have a question for you," intoned the Dark Prime, garnering Psi attention once more.

"Ask away, my pet," Psi replied with a hiss, deciding to stick to his most favoured moniker for everyone below him. It made him feel better the way Nemesis went rigid every time he said it.

Nemesis gathered himself once more, affecting a calculating stance. "Have you ever heard of the Dead Universe?"

"The Dead Universe?" Psi repeated, testing the name. He knew of it, of course. Most creatures like himself would have heard of it. It was not knowledge privy to mortals, though.

Nemesis made a sound as if he were clearing his vents. As casually as he pleased, he turned to face the flaming spectral form of the Fallen One, gazing upon the personification of Chaos without flinching. "Well, Psi, do you know it?"

Reluctantly, the Fallen One admitted, "Of course I do. How did you come upon the name?"

"That is my little secret," Nemesis replied, the corner of his mouthplates tipping up in a taunting smirk.

Psi sneered angrily. "I bet you killed another god for the name. I hope they cursed you with it on their dying breath."

"I assure you, nothing so dramatic happened," Nemesis said cryptically. "Tell me, what do you know of the Dead Universe."

"It is a story," Psi spat, reluctant to bow to the bot's demands. He was not the pawn here, Nemesis was. Nemesis was suppose to bow to him!

The Dark Prime stared ahead unblinkingly, his will clashing with Psi's. The darkness inside him seemed to expand, the lines around his own form blurring. Psi felt the wave of power radiate from the mech, able to sense as the veil of reality around him rippled. A dank, repulsive stink came off him like a breeze.

"Go on," Nemesis murmured.

Psi found himself compelled to obey. He railed against the violation, but could not help himself as the words came out: "The gods there have turned dark, their hunger insatiable. Their darkness spread until even the fabric of their reality was putrefied. No living being can exist in their realm now- they are consumed by the darkness within, hence the name Dead Universe. Legend goes that the _Others_ of the Dead Universe seek to enter this universe to devour the mortals here." As he spoke, he was struck with the sudden memory of Nemesis's creation. He remembered the feeling of reality peeling back, revealing a place of rank stench and frigid cold. A hole had been opened up into a world that had not known a breath of life in a very long time...

"Is that all?" the Dark Prime pressed, arching an optic ridge.

"_Yes." _He gave a violent flick of his spectral hand, causing flames to dance. "Even mythological beings must have scary stories to tell each other."

Nemesis was quiet for a while, as if digesting the story he had just been told. When he next spoke, his words were carefully measured: "Are you sure it is a mere story?"

This gave Psi pause, the body of his ship self shifting with his discomfort. He was being forced to think too much in a far too linear manner, and the ache that had started now spread throughout him like the burn of acid. Ancient metal groaned in one long, haunting note. Now that he was forced to consider the possibility with Nemesis Prime standing in front of him, he was not so sure any more that it was just a story.

Nemesis gave no outward notice of Psi's reactions. His thoughts appeared more inwardly focused as he pondered something anew. "I find it curious that the Dead Universe is considered a myth by creatures are considered mere myths themselves. Your own existence was only a scary story to frighten younglings before you unveiled yourself to the Cybertronians."

"That was their choice not to believe," Psi said tightly. "I have never given anyone a reason not to believe in monsters."

"And what if the denizens of the Dead Universe have been doing the same?" Nemesis suggested coolly. "Perhaps they have been among you all this time, moving back and forth between realms, and you simply chose not to see them?"

"I would think that the appearance of an undead god would garner _some_ attention," the Fallen intoned carefully, amber optics narrowing.

"Would it not make sense that your own arrogance would blind you?" Nemesis said, smirking. "Or it could be that the ignorance of your mortal pawns is rubbing off on you."

Psi snarled, his brittle patience now snapped. Whatever control Nemesis Prime had exerted over him before was now gone, consumed by the sudden rage that hit him. His spectral form shifted, dropping the flaming shape he favoured for an embodiment of his nature; a shroud of darkness without definable form, hundreds of writhing arms lashing out to grab the Nemesis Prime. Too easily, the bot's frame was hauled from the ground and slammed into the windows. There was a claw to sink into every healing wound. Where there was no wounds, Psi was delighted to make new ones. His physical form, the ship, bucked and rocked as if in a storm, every surface turning jagged and knife-sharp. He had the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting Nemesis, even if the bot refused to show his pain.

"Tell me where you learned of the Dead Universe from!" Psi demanded.

Time stuttered to a halt as Nemesis's burning gaze travelled upward, a dreadful kind of smile turning his mouthplates up.

"It is where I come from."


	24. To Promise II

Whew, finally back from house-sitting for my professor. Nothing beats finally being home again (with proper internet access on my own goddamn laptop!) . ^_^

Thanks so much to the reviewers of the last chapter~ You guys know who you are, but just in case you were struck with sudden amnesia: **CNightJoy, femme4jack, phoebe turner, Standout4Christ, renegadewriter8, Flameshield, Dazja, TransformersLover95, JenEvan, Pruhana, EmberLady, Violet, Frenzy5150, Midnight Marquis**, and **riah riddle**! You guys blow me away every time with your amazing observations, connections, and questions about the story. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review!

**May We Never Let Go  
To ****Promise II **

Work had once been Sam's ultimate escape from his personal troubles. He could always depend on the business of his own schedule to distract him from whatever crisis he was dealing with. A fight with Mikaela usually could be put on the back burner while he dealt with an attack on an energy station. If his parents called with yet another story about the embarrassing antics they got up to, Sam's refuge was dealing in warfare and politics. His office had once served as his personal safe haven. The four walls acted like a shield against his problems so that he could focus on other things for a time.

As of late, the four walls of his office were starting to feel like the bars of a cage slowly constricting around him.

No matter if he opened a window or turned up the air circulation, the air never ceased to feel stifling. He was turned claustrophobic if he was forced to sit for too long. If there came a knock at his door, he jumped nearly every time. His habitual fidgeting grew worse as the hours of the day bled away. The words of the reports he was supposed to be reading never stuck in his mind. For nearly fifteen minutes, he had tried to make sense of a single line before realizing the thing was in Russian. He couldn't read Russian.

What his mind kept wandering to most often was Mikaela. Given any spare moment, he was checking his phone to see if there was a text from her. He wondered if she was even getting the texts he sent her. Every time he tried calling, she never picked up. Had she turned off her phone? Was she ignoring him completely? He'd already tried apologizing at least eleven... no, _twelve_ times over the last two days.

Thirteenth time's a charm, right?

He fumbled with his phone, unsteady fingers tapping slowly across the keypad. Each time, his apology texts were a little bit different, but they were always sincere. He reread his message four times before he was sure it was perfect, then he hit send. The moment he did so, the screen flashed blue and died. A plume of steam hissed from the side of it.

"Damn!" Sam cursed, flinging the little device away. It smashed against the wall into a satisfying mess of plastic and silicone.

"You're really thin on control lately, aren't ya?" Jazz's hologram drawled, staring vaguely in the direction the remains of the ruined phone. He might not have been able to see, but he was nevertheless an astute bot. Through the matrix of his holoform, he had felt the brief surge of power; Sam's violent curse and the sound of a phone smashing against a wall closed the deal.

"Mind your own business," Sam spat.

A pair of hands raised in a placating gesture. "Alright, fine, be that way. Just trying ta make some conversation."

"My self-control is not something I want to talk about," Sam replied tightly.

With a soft huff, the hologram settled back into its seat in the far corner.

With Nemesis's most recent rash of attacks on bases, the Autotbots were taking no chances. Prowl and Jazz were with Sam nearly _all _the time now. Sam's patience was quickly wearing down to his last nerve. If he went into town, they drove him in their alt modes. When he worked, their holograms accompanied him into the places where only humans and small Cybertronians would fit. If it was Prowl's turn to watch over Sam, his hologram stayed in the hall because Sam really couldn't stand the indifferent stare the tactician hosted in both his true form and holoform. Jazz was only allowed in the same room because he was as blind as a hologram as he was in his real form.

Sam attempted to return to his work. Still his mind would not focus. No matter how many pills he popped for his heartburn, the feeling never left him. He knew, deep down, no pill would get rid of the ache because it was from something that went deeper than just his _heart_. When he stared down at his hand, his tan was gone; the skin had gone pallid, exposing the twists and turns of veins that looked too blue. Ever since his confession to Miles that he was dying, he hadn't been able to sleep for more than an hour or two before a nightmare convinced him to never sleep again. Some of the nightmares were a product of his overworked mind. Some nightmares were not his doing at all, but someone else's.

A combination of energy drinks and massive amounts of coffee kept him awake at the expense of his already shot nerves. The caffeine made his hands shake and his knees constantly bounced around. Worse yet, he had to take a piss nearly every twenty minutes thanks to an overactive bladder.

Nevertheless, Sam reached for the corner of his desk where a Redbull energy drink lurked. He finished off half the can before setting it back down.

"Ratchet don't like ya drinking those things," Jazz intoned.

"You going to rat me out to him?" Sam asked.

"Nope," the saboteur replied blandly.

"Then I don't care what Ratchet likes or dislikes."

A loud series of knocks sounded at the door, causing Sam to jump. Whoever was on the other side did not wait for an invitation to enter. Miles poked his head in, looking more out of sorts than he usually did. His usual brightly coloured clothing was replaced with subdued tones of browns, greys, and blacks. There were no braids in his blond hair or funky wooden jewelry strung around his body. The weight of knowing Sam's impending death was slowly eating away at him, leaving him exhausted and straining to smile.

"Hey Sam," said the blond.

"Hey," Sam murmured.

Miles's eyes tracked to the shattered phone on the floor and flinched. He then glanced to Jazz's hologram, who was making a good show of pretending to be able to see Miles.

"Need something?" the saboteur drawled.

"I- uh," Miles swallowed and immediately switched his gaze back to Sam. "A couple of guys are planning to head off to Chase's for a party this evening. Everyone needs to let off some steam. We're going to eat all her food and drink all her booze."

Sam pursed his lips. "Sounds like you'll piss Chase off."

Miles shrugged, offering a cheeky smile. "We probably will."

"And that counts as a party?" Sam asked dully. If that was true, he'd been partying for years.

"It does in this case," Miles replied cheerfully. "You've been cooped up too long- you need to have some outside contact. Show up at the party for a bit. It'll be good for you."

Sam turned back to the piles of paper and junk on his desk. "I've got work to do."

"You're working yourself to death," Miles said, and then clapped a hand over his mouth when he realized what he'd said. The 'D' word was supposed to be off-limits. He shot a nervous look toward Jazz, hoping the bot wasn't able to read minds and suddenly discovered that Sam's expiration date was coming up.

If the Jazz sensed anything unusual, he didn't show it.

"If I work myself to death, so be it," Sam grumbled darkly. It sounded like a better fate than the one he was currently dying from. He shuffled through papers to make it look like he busy. When Miles didn't leave, Sam shot him a pleading look. "Go to the party, Miles. You're still allowed to have fun without me."

Miles deflated sadly. "There is no fun without you, buddy."

"You're going to have to get used to it," Sam sighed.

Miles said nothing, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt awkwardly. He looked to Sam one more time, mouth opening to say something- _anything_- but couldn't find any words to say. His head bowed and he rubbed his cheek to his shoulder as if to wipe away tears that might be pricking at the corner of his eye.

"Miles, seriously, just go. There's no point sticking around. You'll only get depressed."

"Misery loves company, bro," the blond murmured weakly. "I don't think you should be alone right now."

Jazz made a soft revving noise to remind both humans that he was still there.

Sam sighed. "I'm not alone, Miles. In fact, I'm _never_ alone anymore. There's always someone around." Whether he wanted them to be around or not. Worse yet, some were there whether he could see them or not.

"But-."

Sam ran a calloused hand over his tired face. "Maybe I'll show up, okay? Go on ahead and if I have time later I'll make an appearance."

Miles brightened up a bit. "Promise?"

It was shitty to lie to tell his best friend, but... "I promise."

"Cool beans, dude. See you there." He stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

"Ya don't strike meh as someone in the party mood," Jazz observed softly.

"It won't be the first lie I've ever told," Sam growled quietly. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to try to get back to work."

With his head down, Sam half waited for some witty reply from the hologram. If there was one thing that he had learned from having Jazz as his guardian, it was that the saboteur liked to have the last word. It was usually some witty quip. This time, none came. Thinking it odd, Sam moved to look up- only to freeze when the scent of apples and sex assaulted his nostrils.

"I would have gone with him, if I were you," Lucifer said lightly, relaxing nonchalantly in a black leather chair that had materialized in front of Sam's desk.

Sam shot to his feet, tripping over his chair. "You!"

Lucifer smiled with a warmth that never reached his eyes. "Hello, Sam."

Desperate eyes flickered to Jazz, but there was no help to be found from the hologram. He was frozen in mid-movement, his mouth open with that witty retort he had meant to give.

"Oh, don't worry about him," said the devil with a simple gesture. "He's having technical difficulties."

Sam tensed. "Did you hurt him?"

Lucifer laughed handsomely. "He's Cybertronian- I can't touch him. But if there happened to be a localized electromagnetic burst that temporarily shorted out his connection to his hologram for the duration of my visit... well, that's just coincidence." He laughed again, straightening his white suit and smoothing back his perfect blond hair. The only thing missing was the wings, which probably wouldn't have fit in the small room anyways.

Sam stumbled back until he felt the wall at his back. The frame of a picture of him shaking the President's hand bit into his shoulder. Bile churned up his throat. "Am I dreaming again?"

"You're not asleep. This is _very_ real," said the devil, still smiling that too perfect smile of his. It was the kind of expression that mesmerized a person at the same time it frightened them.

Unable to stand looking at the devil any longer, Sam closed his eyes tight and turned his face away. "Why are you here?"

"I can't come check up on you from time to time?" Lucifer asked airily.

"I'd prefer that you didn't," Sam gritted out.

"There are a lot of people who would prefer I didn't do the things I do. We can't always get what we want," Lucifer chuckled, but his eyes were hungry as they raked Sam's body, seeing the power housed within. "I see it's gotten worse since our last meeting."

Sam lifted a hand, rubbing his sternum self-consciously. "It's fine."

"Don't try to lie to a liar, Sam. You're not that good at it," Lucifer replied. He shifted to stand up, and suddenly he was right in front of Sam. They stood so close that their chests nearly brushed. The powerful scent of the devil- apples, sex, and wicked things- made Sam's head spin. A soft hand like frozen silk brushed under Sam's chin, lifting his face so that his bright eyes met the devil's. "I can see the scorch marks inside you. You must have some kind of extraordinary willpower to still be standing like you are. Most would have crumbled by now."

Sam tried to jerk his chin away, only to find his body was no longer listening to him. Tears came, but never fell. The glowing blue obscured his vision, yet through the energon tears Sam could see the devil's poisonous expression as he stared at the alien tears. The hate that rolled off the devil as he stared at the tears was palpable.

Choking on the lump in his throat, Sam croaked, "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I can," Lucifer murmured, his lips dipping until his cold breath tickled along the shell of Sam's ear. "I may be here for you, Sam, but that doesn't make me a good guy."

"Stop it," Sam croaked, still struggling as hard as he could to move away. "Please stop." Unbidden by him, laces of blue light electrified the air. There came the acrid scent of sulphur and brimstone mixed with the spicy stink of burnt apple pies.

"Damn you," Lucifer hissed, backing away. For the briefest moment, his eyes flashed yellow and slitted like a snake's. In a flash, he was back on the other side of the desk, safely out of reach of Sam and the power that he couldn't quite control anymore.

Sam sagged against the wall, breathing raggedly. His eyes stung with tears. The inside of his ribcage was on fire, his vision erupting into a series of black spots. He hoped he didn't go into stasis from something he did involuntarily. He did _not_ want to fall into a death-lock while the devil was paying him a visit.

"That cost you, didn't it?" Lucifer sneered, inspecting his hand where he'd been burned. The once perfect skin now looked like a piece of charcoal in the shape of a hand. "Feeling the burn, are we?"

Sam had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of answering.

Regardless, the devil gave a cruel laugh. "I'll be surprised if you don't burn out by the end of the month."

"Is this the only reason you came? All you want to do is taunt me? Don't you have some damned souls in Hell to poke with pointy sticks or something?" Sam snapped.

"That's my two o'clock appointment. Right now, I'm here for you. Lucky little boy that you are, you get a message straight from the devil's lips," Lucifer admitted lightly. He shook out his burnt hand, glamour encasing the flesh to return its appearance to its original perfection. The stink of burnt flesh still remained.

"Spit it out already or it won't just be your hand I fry next time," Sam ordered, hoping he sounded braver than he felt.

It was obvious that the devil could see straight through the bluff, his amusement bright, cold, and clear in his inhumanly blue eyes. "Since you asked so nicely, I came to tell you that the game is changing. Nemesis Prime is proving to be more than what we anticipated. You and your Autobots should be on guard for whatever he has planned."

Sucking in a hard breath, Sam narrowed a hard gaze on the fallen angel. "You're dealing with Nemesis, too?"

"He's more than just a mortal problem," Lucifer said, frowning. "He kills us as easily as he kills your kind. Understandably, we don't like that."

"Nemesis can kill gods?" Sam choked.

"He can kill anything he wants," Lucifer said tightly. "Psi and his master were fools to think they could make something from Nothing. Nemesis is no longer under the Fallen's control. He has his own agenda."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked warily, still keeping his back firmly pressed to the wall to have an anchor while the world started to spin.

"There's been talk among my kind... old stories of a place that makes even Hell seem like a vacation," Lucifer said, blue eyes glinting like chips of ice. "We are doing what we can, but between Nemesis and Psi... it is hard keeping track of both of them, especially when they've gone their separate ways. They are both such chaotic creatures. What either of them has planned, we can't say." His gaze tracked to Sam's, determination glowing in the blue-flame depths. "You've been warned, Sam- mortals and immortals alike are dying. More will die soon. Be prepared for anything."

"Should I fight?" Sam asked weakly.

"Yes," Lucifer said. "But if you do, the effort will most likely be your last."

Energon tears tracked down Sam's face. "One last blaze of glory, huh?"

"If that's what will help you sleep at night," Lucifer said. "When the time comes, don't be afraid to call for help. Earth isn't home to only humans, and the _Others_ that are here are willing to fight for what is theirs."

"I thought you said you weren't the good guy," Sam said, swiping at his damp cheeks. The moment the energon touched his shirt sleeve, the cloth hissed and burned.

"I never will be," Lucifer sighed. "But in this case, I'm not the baddest bad guy on the battlefield. Now, if you need me-."

"Don't worry, I still have your business card," Sam said tightly. The stupid square of paper had been ripped, flushed, set on fire, dipped in acid, and given to dogs to eat, and each time the business card came back unharmed.

"Good." Lucifer turned on his heel, looking so beautiful and terrible it hurt to look at him.

"Before you go..." Sam intoned, looking anywhere but at the devil. "Why you?"

"Hmm?"

He swallowed the thick lump in his throat. "I've been a good man, haven't I? I pay my taxes, I work hard, I saved the world a couple of times... Out of all the gods and angels and demons, why _you_?"

Lucifer regarded Sam with a smile befitting a snake. "Why not?"

He was gone like he had never been there.

Sam gasped for the breath he didn't know he was holding. The floor came up as his knees gave out.

Nearby, Jazz's hologram reinitialized. From his lips fell the witty retort he had meant to give before being interrupted: "Miles is right, Sam. The way you're going- it'll be the death of ya."

* * *

After their encounter in Angel Parts, neither Hound nor Mikaela felt like taking a detour through the greater downtown of Los Angeles. Both were feeling distinctly nauseous, in no mood for pleasant sight seeing. Although they said nothing to each other, their shared sentiment was to get out of the city as quickly and painlessly as possible. They did their best to avoid the gridlocked freeways, sneaking along quieter, more discreet roads that skirted around most of the action.

Silence reigned for long hours in Hound's cab. Everything that went unsaid between human and transformer hung heavily in the air like a physical pressure. Hound did not even have the nerve to turn on the radio. In his head, he kept running over a thousand different things he could say to the young woman with him, but nothing measured up. He could not stand the feeling that he had somehow hurt her, even without knowing how he had done it. Out of respect for her, the moment they were driving on an empty stretch of road heading into nowhere, he shut down his hologram to give her the illusion of privacy.

Instead of sitting in the passenger's seat up front, Mikaela had opted to curl up on the bench seat in the back. Normally in trucks the seat didn't recline, but Hound had shifted the contents of his cab around to flatten the seat into a mattress for her. He did not even insist on her wearing a seat belt as she laid back there, something he was usually strict on. She pillowed her head on a sweater she'd brought with her and cried quietly for a short while. The brittle pride she'd been hanging on to while at Angel Parts drained out, leaving her exhausted and confused. She didn't know when she fell asleep, or for how long she was out, but by the time she awoke again, it was night and Hound was beginning to drive into the outskirts of the Mojave desert. The terrain outside the window was beginning to shift into a rougher, rockier landscape lit by the silver-white shine of the distant moon.

"Can we stop for the night, Hound?" Mikaela asked quietly, staring at the roof of his cab. "I think I need to sleep on something that isn't moving."

A static noise came from Hound's speakers, then he asked, "Do ya want meh ta find a motel?"

Mikaela thought about the offer, then shook her head listlessly. Her thoughts were fuzzy and her head was beginning to spin from the overwhelming smell of unwashed human coming from her. She didn't stink yet, but the layered chemical smells of deodorant and body spray were mixing with dead skin cells and accumulated oils and it was making her a little lightheaded. A shower would be nice. So would a bed. But finding a motel meant that she'd have to be around other humans, and she really wasn't up for that kind of social grace at the moment.

"No motel," she mumbled.

"Ah'll find us some cover off the road, then," the scout replied softly.

Mikaela felt it the moment the Jeep left the smooth asphalt of the road for the wilderness of untamed, uneven landscape. Her body bounced along with the many bumps, her headache throbbing in tune with each toss. Hound was built for his kind of activity, so she tried not to worry too extensively over what the abuse might be doing to his internals. She would leave that worrying to Chase, who no doubt would loudly voice her displeasure over whatever damage Hound was incurring.

For a while, the only thing that could be heard was the jarring sound of Hound's shocks squeaking as his considerably weight was banged around. Mikaela didn't bother to look at the time or look out the window. She lacked the energy and interest to do either; implicitly, she trusted Hound to know exactly where to go. Eventually, their speed slowed, bumping to a gentle halt. Hound's engine gave a long, grumbling sigh before switching off. His alt mode sank low on his wheels, relieved to be at an end to the jarring journey. Mikaela summoned enough strength to peer out the window, surprised to find a small spring of water not far from Hound's flank. The still pool was small, ringed by long strands of reed grass and weeds. From the greenery, the eyes of rodents and startled lizards flashed in the light of Hound's headlights. Soaring above them was a wall of striated rock- reds, oranges, yellows, and browns- mixed with chips of quartz that glittered in the pale moonlight.

Hound clicked his doors open to allow Mikaela to slide out on her own. She was bare foot as she hopped down, taking guilty pleasure in sifting the rough, warm dirt through her toes. She reached back inside and took her duffel bag with her, then backed away to let Hound do whatever he was going to do. His tailgate banged down, his back end lowering to the ground until the incline was sharp enough to slide the boxes in his bed to the ground. Once free of the slight burden, he transformed, causing all the animals in the area to scatter in fright. His alien nature was nearly grotesque while contrasted with the ultimate untamed nature of the setting around them.

"How did you find this place?" Mikaela wondered and she inched toward the shore of the tiny spring. It couldn't have been bigger than ten feet across, but the tracks in the dirt suggested that it was a lifeline to the creatures around here.

"Satellite imaging," Hound replied, pulling a tarp out from subspace, shaking it out, and laying it on the ground. He sat down and hunched over, his forest green armour glinting dark and light in the moonlight. His deep blue optics appeared especially bright in his shadowed faceplate.

"I've never been to a desert oasis before," she murmured, dipping her toe in the refreshingly cool water. It was like dipping her toe in liquid silk.

"The water is coming from a small untapped aquifer," Hound explained. "It's fresh, but Ah wouldn't suggest drinking it."

"Is it good enough for washing?" Mikaela asked tiredly.

"Ah think so," replied the scout.

"Good," Mikaela sighed. "Turn around."

Hound immediately obliged, shuffling around on his tarp until his broad back was to her. Mikaela didn't bother to do a double take to make sure he wasn't looking; it was a given that he wouldn't dare. She stripped herself of her shirt and jeans and folded them, keeping her bra and panties on. From her duffel, she got out a new shirt and a pair of clean, better fitting jeans; out of a side pocket, she pulled a facecloth. Laying her sweater down on the ground next to the water to sit on, she proceeded to soak her facecloth and wipe away the dregs of a horrible day. She didn't walk into the water and she didn't use soap, hoping to preserve the integrity of the oasis as best as she could.

A good wash was exactly what she had needed to bring a little more life back into her. She was refreshed, the coolness of the fresh water infusing a new energy into her system. It felt good to have the dirt, sweat, and dead skin cells scrubbed off. Her fuzzy vision finally sharpened, along with her muffled hearing. The foggy veil that had settled on her mind lifted, leaving her thoughts to gather and crystallize. She cast a shaded look in Hound's direction as he kept his back to her, his head moving back and forth as he kept a look out for coyotes and other dangerous predators.

"You really didn't know he was there, did you?" Mikaela intoned.

Hound shook his head, automatically knowing who she was referring to. "If Ah had known, Ah would have insisted someone else come. Ah would have come by mahself if I had been able ta."

She watched the Autobot's broad back for a second, then went back to washing herself. "I believe you."

Hound sighed, stirring the dirt around him with the whoosh of air that came out of his vents. "Ya didn't deserve meeting him like that."

Mikaela nodded, watching the progress of her hand as she washed her way down the opposite arm. "I'm actually kind of glad I met him like that," she admitted, even as her throat closed up a bit. "I got to realize something that I was afraid to think of before now."

"What's that?" Hound prompted softly.

"That he's not my dad anymore," she murmured, her voice cracking. She splashed cold water on her face, grateful that Hound couldn't see her expressions. "He hasn't always been bad, you know? When my mom was alive, he was the best dad anyone could ever ask for. He was there for every birthday and Christmas, and I still remember him having tea parties with me and all my stuffed animals." She laughed quietly at the memory before sobering. "I was seven when my mom died. It was a stupid car crash- drunk driver. You already know that."

"Chase told meh," the scout murmured. Mikaela chose never to speak of her past with anyone bar her aunt, so everything Hound knew of the Banes' history came from Chase or records he could find on the internet.

"I don't think dad... _David_ ever recovered from losing her." She sniffed quietly.

"It's hard losing the ones you love," Hound murmured. "Seeing them go changes a person."

"David changed," Mikaela said. "I think he still loved me, but he wasn't the same. He didn't act the same or smile as much, but he was all I had and I was just a little kid so I stuck with him. I learned to steal cars just so we'd have something in common." She sighed, then swallowed the lump in her throat. "I guess a part of me has always hoped my real dad would come back. Like one of those fairy tales or something- he'd walk in the door someday and he'd be back to that awesome guy that laughed a lot and played along with all my tea parties. Now I know he's gone for good."

Hound made a keening noise. "Ah'm sorry, dearspark..."

"It's okay, Hound. I'm okay now." She stood up and redressed, changing her bra and panties and adding the clean shirt and pants. "I realized today that I'm not going to get my old dad back. I'm grateful that I got to say goodbye to the man he's become. I don't need him in my life. I'm an adult who has her own life now."

"Good for you."

Mikaela laughed softly. "Yeah, the best part about it is that I already have a pretty awesome dad, he just happens to be a little more different than most."

She touched his back lightly, feeling him jump beneath her palm. His head craned around to look down at her, the light of his optics illuminating his surprised expression. He was as far from a human as anything in the universe physically could be; he was twenty-three feet tall, weighed three tons, and was covered in dark green armour. His innards were made of metal, his mind comprised of computer chips and data files. Even his soul was different- it was a big ball of energy in his chest. And yet Autobot Scout Hound was more human than he even realized.

"You're okay with that, right?" Mikaela asked softly, meeting his glowing gaze.

He blinked several times, opening and closing his mouthplates. A light revving sound came from his chest, and finally he nodded. "Very okay." He scooted around, large hands reaching out. He was gentle as he picked her up and brought her close to his hard, metal chest, hugging her as gently as he could. "Ah'm very okay with that, dearspark. Ya don't mind that Ah'm...?"

"You're perfect." Mikaela hugged him back tightly, her arms barely able to hug the front portion of his grill. "I know I'm an adult and all, but it's still nice to know that I'm loved."

"You're never too old ta be loved," Hound assured.

Mikaela pulled out of the hug, leaning back in Hound's palms to see his faceplate. There was a smile on her face. "I never thought about what a relief it would be to finally tell you that you're kind of like a dad to me." She laughed, shaking her head. "We've been dancing around it for years, but I was scared to say anything."

"Believe meh, Ah was just as scared," the Autobot chuckled. "Terrified, even."

"So, it's official now?" Mikaela wondered. "We're a family... minus Chase explicitly knowing?"

"She knows- she just won't admit it out loud," Hound said wryly. "And we're almost official. Ah can make it legally official by inputting the new status into mah directory. Once Ah do that, by Cybertronian law, you will be recognized as mah charge."

Mikaela grinned, all traces of her earlier malaise disappearing. "I'd like that."

After a moment, she was put back on the ground. Hound's optics flashed bright as he accessed his directory and input the necessary information that would make it official that Mikaela was his adopted charge. While he did that, Mikaela stuffed her things back into her duffel and flicked out her phone, checking voice mail and text messages. One voice mail and several texts from Sam apologizing for their fight again. Most of them contained the same message- a desperate and honest apology that sounded convincingly sincere- but Mikaela wasn't ready to reply to any of them yet. A few text messages from Miles. A text from Chase wondering if they got the order yet.

Instead of texting back, Mikaela dialled home and waited three rings before someone picked up.

"_Center of the universe," _Miles announced cheerfully. In the background, the sounds of a full house filled the earpiece. Everyone must have come over to hang out for the evening.

Mikaela laughed quietly. "Put Chase on, Miles."

"_Mikaela? Oh, hey! Been wondering how you've been. Did you get Sam's messages?" _

"Yeah," she sighed.

"_Call him back soon, okay? I think you two really need to talk,"_ said Miles. _"He... uh... he's not doing so well right now. He needs you." _

"I'll see him when I get back," Mikaela replied quietly. "Can you put Chase on now?"

Miles sighed. _"Yeah, one second." _

Muffled noise, then someone grabbed the phone.

"_Hey, kiddo,"_ Chase said, her familiar raspy voice filling Mikaela's ears. _"How's it going?" _

"Got the parts," Mikaela said.

"_Any trouble?" _

She didn't answer right away, debating whether or not it was worth it to mention her father's name. In the end, she decided it was best to omit that detail. No point in upsetting Chase over nothing. "No trouble. The guys there were assholes, but Hound and I handled them just fine."

"_Good for you,"_ Chase praised. _"You'll be home soon?" _

"We stopped to camp at this cute little place Hound found, but we'll be back on the road in the morning. We'll be home in a day, maybe a day and a half." Mikaela sat down on top of her duffel bag and pressed her phone closer to her ear. "I just called to tell you I love you."

"_I love you too, Mickey,"_ Chase replied, chuckling.

Mikaela smiled lightly. "I really needed to hear you say that."

"_You can hear it more when you get home,"_ Chase said. _"Is Hound there? Put him on so I can talk to him for a second." _

Mikaela looked up to see Hound watching her. She motioned to the phone and mouthed the word "_Chase_." The Autobot nodded, touching the side of his head as he connected to the cell phone. He gave her a thumbs up when it was safe for her to close the phone. She left him to the call, pulling out a magazine to read while he and Chase exchanged a few words. Over the top of the magazine, she watched Hound's body language, noting how his whole frame relaxed while he spoke. She could read Cybertronian body language well enough to know that Hound was ridiculously happy to be catching up with Chase. When it was time to say goodbye, he sighed and dropped his hand from his audio.

"What did she say?" Mikaela wondered, abandoning her magazine completely.

"Watch out for snakes and scorpions," Hound replied, his smile deepening with fondness. "And make sure you're okay, because ya didn't sound right on the phone." He sat back, bracing his weight on his arms. "And she might have mentioned something about taking better care of mahself; don't let mah filters clog up with dirt, don't wear out mah shocks, the usual stuff."

"She worries, in her own way," Mikaela said lightly.

"Yeah," Hound replied, still smiling softly.

Mikaela leaned forward, bracing her palms on her crossed legs. "You really love her, don't you?"

The suddenness of the question startled the Autobot. He jerked straight, then cleared his vents nervously. "Well, um... that's a random question, isn't it?" He chuckled quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Mikaela nearly laughed at him for looking so hapless. "I don't think it's random, just a little blunt. It's a simple question, Hound."

"It's a little more complicated than that," Hound admitted meekly.

Mikaela rolled her eyes "I don't see why. You didn't get all strange when you just _adopted_ me."

"That was family. Family is different. Me and Chase... well, like Ah said- it's _complicated_." He stared down at his official charge- his _daughter_, to use a human term- and tried for a reasonable expression. "She's not comfortable with what it might mean ta love someone like meh. Ah respect that. Ah gave her mah word that Ah would never tell her Ah loved her."

"But you _do_ love her, right?" Mikaela weaselled. "Even if you promised never to say it, you still love her regardless."

"You're a nosey thing tonight," Hound sighed. "If ya really must know, yes, Ah do."

Mikaela cheered, laughing when Hound started laughing at her.

"Ah input her into mah directory as mah exclusive years ago," the scout admitted. "If anything ever happened ta meh, she would have legal rights ta deal with mah frame and possessions."

"She doesn't know about this, does she?" Mikaela asked, arching a dark brow.

Hound twiddled his thumbs in his lap. "Ah might have forgotten ta mention it ta her..."

"Wow, Hound- you forgot to mention that you're in an exclusive relationship with the person you're in the relationship with? I don't know how they do things on your planet, but..." She laughed, shaking her head. "I don't think Chase is going to be too impressed."

The scout managed to laugh too, except it was a guilty sound. "That's what Ah'm afraid of. This is just going ta be between us, alright? Don't tell her anything."

The young woman sobered quickly. "Will you tell her yourself?"

"Someday." He look away again, making an embarrassed sound. If he had been human, he might have blushed. "It's gotta be the right time. If Ah tell her at the wrong time... Ah don't want ta lose her as a friend."

Mikaela scooted closer, drawing her knees to her chest. She felt like a little girl again, not a twenty-five year old woman; she was a little girl sitting in the middle of the desert next to an intergalactic robot-alien who happened to now be her official adopted dad. "Will you make me a promise?"

"For what?"

"Promise me that you'll tell her soon," she said, trying to keep it as light as possible. "Chase deserves to know, and you deserve to be able to say that you love her at least once while you still have the chance."

Hound pursed his mouthplates, looking reluctant.

"_Please_, Hound. Do it for me? It doesn't have to be when we get back. You can wait and all, just don't wait until it's too late." She treated him with a wide-eyed hopeful look.

He groaned. "You're not likely ta give this up, are ya?"

"Nope."

There came a long, expansive sigh. "Fine, Ah promise. If there ever comes a right time, Ah'll... mention something to her. Briefly and in private."

"That's the best you can do?" Mikaela asked playfully.

"For now," replied the scout.

"Okay, I can live with that," said the young woman before she yawned. Was it really such a late hour? Night had settled in darkly, even the stars seeming dim tonight. How had it gotten so dark all of a sudden? To be sure of the time, Mikaela pulled out her phone to check, only to find the battery drained. Hadn't it been fully charged the last time she checked? With a beep, the little device died completely.

"Hound, what time is it?"

"A little after eleven. Why?"

"My cell just died." She shook her phone, trying to turn it back on. "I thought it was fully charged, but I guess not."

Hound tensed, optics flashing around. He eased to his feet, the blade he kept sheathed in his forearm sliding out. "Something's not right."

Startled, Mikaela hopped to her feet as well. "What is it?"

A cold wind swept through the small area, bringing with it the chilling sound of a death-rattle moan.

Mikaela felt her blood turn to ice in her veins.

"Leeches," Hound said grimly.

Sparks of blindingly bright light descended into the area as the kremzeeks came, their combined shrieks sounding like nails down a chalkboard. Mikaela gasped, jumping to her feet and throwing herself behind Hound's foot before she was hit by the living lightning. The spot she just vacated on the tarp burned straight through to the ground. One touch of the kremzeeks to her bare flesh and she was sure to be charred to a crisp.

Hound suddenly moved, blocking something beyond Mikaela's range of sight. She twisted, discovering a leech had come too close. It wasn't a large one, but it still cost Hound his energy as he shoved the creature away. Its mournful moan filled the night as it hit the ground hard. Hound cried out when he saw the grass blacken beneath the leech. The last thing he wanted was to destroy the oasis. Dusting his hands with dirt, he hauled the leech up and flung it away from the waters.

A kremzeek came in from Mikaela's left, forcing her to jump backward. It came so close to her face that she was momentarily blinded by its electric body. It chattered like a bunch of firecrackers going off, coming around for a second strike. Still partially blinded, Mikaela tripped to the ground. Her chin burned where the flesh was scraped away. She filled her hands with fistfuls of dirt, waiting until the kremzeek was close enough to throw the dirt on it. Another ear-splitting shriek shattered the air, the lightning creature jackknifing into the sky.

"Run, Mikaela!" Hound shouted, kicking a beheaded leech off his blade.

Instead of running, Mikaela skidded around. A horde of leeches was shambling toward them like the robot version of _Night of the Living Dead_. They weren't very fast, but they were close. There were too many for Hound to fight on his own.

"Transform, Hound! We have to get out of here!" Mikaela screamed.

"Ah can't! You run! Ah'll cover ya!" His foot came down in front of her hard enough to shake the earth, sending her stumbling. _"Go!"_

"But-!"

"Don't worry about meh! Just run!" He didn't spare her another glance before he was away again, thrusting his blade into the neck of one leech while drawing his gun to blow a hole through the chest of another.

She didn't even feel the rough dirt and rocks beneath her bare feet as she took off into the desert. Adrenaline and fear set her blood on fire, pushing her to run faster than she ever had in her life. Even when she tripped and fell, she pushed herself to keep going.

"_Kremzeek!"_ screamed a lightning monster, coming at her from the right. Mikaela dropped to her stomach, stars erupted in her gaze from the impact. The kremzeek swooped so close, it felt as if someone had taken a blow torch to her back. She rolled rapidly, trying to put out the fire that had started to smoulder on her back. The stink of burnt hair seared the insides of her nostrils.

Distantly, she heard Hound cry out. Instinctively, she cast her eyes over her shoulder to make sure he was all right. He was easy to spot amongst all the shuffling grey-black bodies. They'd forced him to the ground, so many hands clamouring in to suck him dry of energy. Black spots were starting to erupt across his green paint like dark bruises.

"Hound! _Hound!_" She found herself running as fast as she could _toward _the danger.

"No!" Hound screamed, struggling harder when he saw the girl coming for him. There was nothing she could do for him except get killed in the crossfire. No way in hell was he going to be responsible for her death. His vision blurred as his energy continued to be drained. With the last of his strength, he got one arm free and slashed at the hands and feet around him. The moment his torso was free, the armour of his shoulder rearranged into his shoulder mount. Close range wasn't smart, but he was willing to deal with the backlash so long as it kept Mikaela out of harm's way.

Several blasts of blinding photons detonated, throwing four leeches off. The rest of them met a swift end as Hound shot two in the head and decapitated another. He stumbled away from the mess, feeling numb and cold inside. The leeches had managed to take their fair share of energy. Even his spark felt drained. He stumbled as if drunk.

"Oh my god, Hound!" Mikaela screamed, running faster.

"Ah told you ta run!" Hound slurred, barely able to get his vocal processor to work. It was hard enough to keep fighting, smearing himself with dirt as he went. He needed the non-conductive protection. More leeches were coming. He could hear their moaning haunting the night.

"I can't leave you!" Mikaela cried, skidding to a halt. The dirt beneath her feet stained red; she probably didn't even realize the soles of her feet were cut open.

"Yes you can! Get out of here! If you don't, you'll die!"

She stumbled back, suddenly registering the awful burn of her feet. She was only human, with no guns or armour to protect her in this fight. It was stupid of her to have tried to run back. There was nothing she could do to help Hound.

"Run, Mikaela!" the scouted ordered one last desperate time.

Spurred into action, she spun on her heel to make another break into the desert.

This time, she did not get as far as she had hoped. At first, she did not notice the thinning oxygen as she ran. She thought it was her own exhaustion as she ran that was making it hard to breath. When no air came at all, her lungs locked tight like they were in a vice and her world suddenly spun. Her feet tangled as dizziness hit her. The ground came up in a rush, skinning her arms and the tops of her feet. Rolling to her back, she clutched at her throat with one hand and clawed at the air with the other.

Why couldn't she breathe?

Where was the air?

Before her eyes, a rip appeared in midair, slowly tearing downward. _Something_ stepped out of the black hole.

"Op-Optimus!" she managed to gasp, staring up at the dark spectre above her.

Ruby optics turned down, watching her as she flopped around like a fish out of water. The rift stayed open, sucking the last vestiges of air out of the vicinity. Black spots erupted in her vision, growing as unconsciousness started to take her under. As if from a great distance, she could hear Hound screaming for her. She wished she could say something to him. The only noise that fell from her lips was a sound she had never heard before- a gurgling, rasping noise.

The gasps grew quieter, her struggles less vigorous. In a matter of seconds, she laid still on the ground, her glassy eyes staring upward.

"_Mikaela!"_ The Autobot nearby howled in fury, breaking away from the wave of leeches holding him down.

Nemesis watched for a second longer, wondering if the human girl would do anything more. He nudged her with his foot, rolling her over. She stayed still, the blackness in her eyes expanding. A pity the show was over so soon. The best part of it had been those first few moments when she had thought he was someone else- the look of hope she'd given him, only to have it dashed. It was exquisite.

Scooping her up, Nemesis turned the limp body over a couple of times. A weak heartbeat still fluttered in her chest. Give her starved lungs a little oxygen and she'd start back up.

Hound charged forward.

Nemesis held the girl out, both a threat and an unneeded shield. "Come quietly and the girl lives."

He skidded to a halt, optics blazing with rage and agony.

"Attack me, Autobot, and you will see her die." He squeezed her between two fingers to impress his point.

Horror lit up the scout's faceplate, watching as his ward's body compressed inward.

Nemesis released the pressure. "Good." He stepped aside, gesturing to the black hole. "Are you ready to come quietly?"

Hound did not take his gaze from Mikaela's motionless body. "Ah'll come... just don't hurt her."

"You have my word, for now," Nemesis said.

Head bowed, Hound stumbled into the darkness. Behind him, Nemesis followed with his prize in hand.


	25. To Death II

Thank you to the reviewers of the last chapter: **femme4jack, Midnight Marquis, flameshield, JenEvan, Standout4Christ, CNightJoy, Der-Der, Phoebe Turner, Violet, EmberLady, TransformersLover95, Marsh Queen, FORD B**, and **Frenzy5051**. You guys never cease to amaze me with the insight and enthusiasm that you place in all your reviews. Love to you all~

**May We Never Let Go  
To Death II**

The only thing more terrible than Nemesis attacking another EDC/Cybertronian base was _waiting_ for him to attack. Waiting for him to do anything. It was the _not knowing_ what he was going to do next that kept everyone on edge. Not a soul or spark on the planet knew where he was, and not a person had a guess where he might show up next. Carnéval, the last place Nemesis had taken down, had taken a hard hit; the bots survived, but most of their home was now washed into the ocean. The symbiotes who were left behind were now living with human friends in the nearby town until they could catch a flight down to Nevada. To be on the safe side for everyone else, if there was a place housing even a single Cybertronian life form, that base was set on high alert.

No one wanted to take any more chances.

To make matters worse, nearly all news coverage of the attacks that had already happened depicted the Cybertronians in a negative light, even if they were the ones to stay the longest and work the hardest to repair the damages Nemesis left behind. They couldn't bring back the dead, but they could dig out the living. On the news, they were 'destructive machines' and 'a threat to the human way of life'. Nemesis's attacks were reported as a rogue Cybertronian, and the humans didn't like the idea that a single bot could do so much damage and no one seemed able to stop him. Anti-alien sentiment was plummeting around the planet again. Organic aliens were locking down their own communities, trying to protect themselves from humans who might want to take their dislike of aliens out of them.

With tension mounting to an all time high on the Nevadan base, it was decided among the Cybertronians that they would have an impromptu sparring session outside. Normally, under stressful situations, they had taken to karaoke for relief, but singing their sparks out did not offer the same physical release they craved. There was no better way to work out excess energy than to beat the slag out of each other in the name of organized sport.

The games were to be hosted topside, where they could find the most space to spread out in. They were careful about it, though; being topside had the risk of some idiot human filming them while sparring. That in itself was no disastrous, since humans like Will had home movies of them fooling around, but if someone were to sell the films of them sparring to a news company, it would only be used to further the stereotype that all Cybertronians were 'violent' and 'dangerous'.

Their chosen location laid beyond the boundary of base, but still contained within the circumference of the rifts. Not far from them was the looming shape of the _Loki_, its brightly painted hull shining cheerfully in the sunlight. It was both a sight worth smiling at and mourning for, serving as a reminder that Carnéval was lost though not all hope was gone yet. Any Cybertronian worth his armour was contributing to the scrambling signal that would warp any electrical device within their vicinity.

When word got out of the transformers' intentions, which did not take long when Bluestreak was involved, humans and other organic aliens who were on the Cybertronian's side immediately took interest. How often did one get to see a playful match between two Cybertronians who were not intent on killing each other? It was an opportunity to cheer for their robotic brothers-in-arms while escaping the pressures that were starting to mount as media and the government became increasingly polarized.

Bumblebee cast his optics around the gathering, eager to find out who he would be paired with first. Normally, he was not so happy to fight someone, even in training, but his eagerness could not be helped. He blamed the stain that nearly consumed him for his excess thirst for violence. It was getting harder to control with every passing orn. Despite the brief release Optimus's confession had given him, his worry for Sam soon overrode much of his relief, eating away at him. Two nights ago, he had seen energon fall from his best friend's eyes and it still scared him what something like that might mean.

Unable to stand still any longer, he started to hop from foot to foot.

Ironhide rumbled quietly, leaning out of the way of Bumblebee's antics. "Settle down. The lots aren't even drawn yet."

Bumblebee forced himself to stop hopping. "Who are you hoping to fight?"

"Someone who will make it worth my while," said the large mech with a heavy shrug. "And you?"

"Anyone," Bumblebee replied. "I don't care."

Chromia, who stood not far from her sparkmate, glanced over with a smirk. "I personally hope to get one of the Neutrals- either Nightbird or Drift would be fine."

Upon hearing his designation, Drift glanced up from the conversation he was having with a small group of humans who had shown up early to watch the fights. He caught sight of Chromia and tilted his head. Chromia grinned, pointing to him first, then to herself, and then pounded her fists together. Drift blinked in surprise, then hardened his expression and nodded to accept the challenge before turning back to the humans.

"I heard that Drift practices diffusion," Bumblebee intoned, eyeing the hilt of the large sword on the mech's back. Diffusion was one of the martial arts forms on Cybertron, the classic rival to circuit-su. Its students were generally recognizable by the swords they carried, which were marked to announce which commune they came from and who their master was. They could also _use_ the swords with deadly efficiency, though diffusion's teachings preached peaceful resolutions before war. Bumblebee's own training had familiarized him to the basics, but he was more proficient at circuit-su since both Prowl and Jazz were resident masters of it and had insisted in drilling the art form into him.

Ironhide snorted, clearly unimpressed. He did not care for either circuit-su or diffusion. On more than one occasion, Bumblebee had heard the mech refer to the forms as 'arts for wusses'. As could be expected of the weapons specialist, he preferred a more heavy handed approach when dealing with an opponent.

Chromia, on the other hand, showed a little more interest in the matter. She looked thoughtful as she considered Drift. "Been a while since I fought a diffusionist."

Bumblebee twittered quietly. "Sideswipe also mentioned Drift's been training with human martial artists."

"I heard the same thing," Chromia replied. "The twins say he's good, and that's what I'm hoping for."

An excited buzz arose as Ratchet pressed his way through the crowd of Cybertronians, the human doctor Felicity Spring on his shoulder. In his wake came a small caravan of trucks, motorbikes, and dune buggies carrying military personnel and EDC agents interested in the impending games. Ratchet himself did not normally participate in the training matches; he usually reserved himself for refereeing and being the on-site medic in case participants got a little too rambunctious. His entrance generally marked the beginning of the sports. Dr. Spring accompanied him for nearly the same reason; she was a safety precaution in the event that an organic alien accidentally got kicked or thrown. In her hands was a baseball cap filled with scraps of paper with the Cybertronians' designations written on them.

"What took you so long?" Cliffjumper huffed.

"There were complications with Flamewar," Ratchet replied. "Virus is seeing to it now."

Bumblebee craned his neck to see past the medic. "Sideswipe didn't come with you?"

"He decided to stay with Roulette," Ratchet said, then turned to Sunstreaker. "He told me to wish you luck."

The golden bot smirked. "Don't need luck."

"You'll just need a medic after you _lose_," Cliffjumper heckled.

"Bring it, shortie," Sunstreaker shot back.

"Put it in neutral, you two. The matches haven't even started," Prime said evenly. He was by himself this time. Elita One, understandably, exempted herself from all forms of violence whenever possible, including the type meant for exercise and fun. No one blamed her for her choice.

Felicity started mixing the scraps of paper around in the hat. "Are you participating today or sitting this one out, Optimus?"

Amid teasing cheers from his Autobots, Optimus chuckled. "I think I will participate today." Another cheer rose up when the bots got what they wanted. As much as Optimus was their Prime, they liked it when he came down to their level to fight alongside them or to train like a common warrior.

"Alright." The doctor withdrew an extra scrap of paper from her pocket and scribbled the Prime's designation on it before dropping it into the hat. She swirled the paper around and pulled out the first scrap. She opened her mouth to announce the designation, only to be cut off by the sound of someone's horn going off.

"Wait! Don't start without us!" someone called. Two sleek vehicles gunned toward them, one being a low silver serpentine car and the other a police SUV.

"Thought you weren't going to make it!" Smokescreen yelled, waving to both approaching Autobots.

Jazz and Prowl skidded to a halt, revving their engines. Prowl's backdoor popped open and Sam jumped out before both bots were able to resume their bipedal modes.

"Sorry we're late. Took a little work ta get this one out of his apartment," Jazz said, nudging Sam with his foot.

Sam mumbled something incomprehensible, keeping his eyes on the ground.

Bumblebee nearly went to his knees to scoop the human up for a hug. If there was anyone who desperately looked like they needed a hug, it was Sam. His appearance was even more pitiful than it had been a few nights before. He was a bedraggled mess of wrinkled clothes and mussed hair, skin stretched tight over a frame that looked like it hadn't seen food in several days

Sensing the Camaro's regard, Sam looked up and his grim expression softened. "Hey Bee."

"Hi Sam," he replied. "Going to cheer for me?"

"Wouldn't cheer for no one else," said the human, trying for a smile.

A whistle rose up from the human crowd. Will waved, beckoning Sam over. "Come on, Witwicky. Best seats in the house over here."

Sam gave Bumblebee an encouraging half-smile before jogging over to the humans.

"The anticipation is killing me, Dr. Spring! Who's going first?" Bluestreak intoned, his doorwings flapping in excitement.

Felicity looked down at the paper. "Ironhide."

The weapons specialist puffed up proudly.

The next designation was selected- "Firestar."

"Damn it!" squealed the femme. "Can I get a redraw?"

"Too late!" Blaster crowed. "You're stuck with him!"

Amid raucous laughter at the femme's expense, the next pair was chosen; Mirage and Cliffjumper. Then came Arcee and Drift- which Chromia had cursed at. The Femme Commander was appeased when a couple draws later she was paired with Prowl. Two commanders going at it never ceased to be a good match. Nightbird would face Jazz. Optimus was paired with Bluestreak; everyone knew who was going to win, but they looked forward to cheering for it anyways.

Bumblebee listened eagerly for his designation to be called, once again hopping from foot to foot. When he finally heard it, he nearly jumped out of his armour. Grinning, he exclaimed, "Who do I get?"

Felicity plucked up his opponent. "Sunstreaker."

Sunstreaker's ice-like optics glinted as they travelled up and down Bumblebee's mottled frame. "Don't worry, Bee. I'll go easy on you."

"Please don't," Bumblebee replied with a smirk. "I won't go easy on you."

Once everyone was paired up, Ratchet cleared his vents. "Everyone knows the rules. No guns, no blades, and no dirty shots. And _try_ not to step on anything that squishes."

"He means us!" Epps yelled.

"We figured as much," Smokescreen called back.

Simmons leaned back on the side of a black SUV, blowing a billow of cigarette smoke away. "You're more than welcome to step on them," he said, nodding to every soldier present, including Will and Epps.

Will looked over at Ironhide. "If you step on Simmons, big guy, no one would blame you."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ironhide rumbled deeply.

Ratchet rolled his optics. "Let's have some good, clean matches or so help me I will drag you back to the med bay by your audios."

With the usual rules and threats in place, Ironhide and Firestar moved to the delineated area where they would fight. The rest of the Cybertronians spread out to get comfortable. Some collapsed into the alt modes to have the cushion of their rubber tyres to rest on. Others sat on tarps like humans would sit on picnic blankets. Bumblebee eagerly came to Sam's side, bringing the human to his shoulder. Across the circle, Prowl cast him a brief look before looking away. There were enough Cybertronians around that the tactician needn't watch the boy like a hawk.

Firestar danced around. "Can I forfeit?"

"No," Ironhide grunted.

"Can you at least not go for my head?" the femme asked. "Wheeljack just did this for me and I don't want them ripped out." She pointed to the thin, decorative crests that jutted up above her audios; small holes had been drilled in them recently, with thin gold hoops threaded through. On anyone else, it would have looked ridiculous, but Firestar carried the look well.

"Put up a proper defence and you won't have to worry," Ironhide growled, lunging forward.

Sam barely paid attention to the match. There wasn't much of a point in paying attention when he already knew who was going to win. Firestar was a quick femme and a good warrior even if she acted like an airhead, but she didn't compare to Ironhide. He was in a league of his own when it came to battle. It was only a matter of time before Firestar was finished off and Ironhide would advance to the next round.

Instead of cheering or jeering like the audience around him, Sam watched the side of Bumblebee's head. The metal was almost completely black now, save for a few odd splotches of yellow here and there. He still wasn't used to seeing his best friend like this. The colour was too dark for Bumblebee's personality; Bumblebee was supposed to be bright and kind and endlessly energetic. Yellow was perfect for him. **Black**... Sam had nothing against the colour black, but it wasn't a colour that suited Bee at all. He wished he could take a giant bucket of yellow paint and pour it over top of Bumblebee to restore him to his rightful colours. But Sam knew that was only wishful thinking. The dark colour wasn't just _paint_ and there wasn't much anyone could do to get rid of it.

He lifted a finger and trailed it down the side of the scout's audio dial, tracing some old engravings in the warm metal. Even if Bumblebee looked different, he still felt the same.

"You didn't really want to come today, did you?" Bumblebee asked quietly, glancing to his shoulder.

"I didn't have much of a choice," Sam grumbled sullenly.

"I'm sorry it has to be this way," Bumblebee murmured, tilting his head to the side to offer something like a comfort nudge.

Sam nudged him back with a wan smile. "I'm sorry too, buddy."

Firestar was thrown to the ground with a loud thud. Before she could get up, Ironhide sat on her. She squealed, flailing around until her fist pounded the ground.

"I'm out! I'm out!" she yelled. "You're squishing me!"

"Winner: Ironhide," Ratchet announced flatly.

With a groan, the weapons specialist lurched to his feet and hauled his opponent up, swatting dirt off her. Firestar whined, wriggling away from Ironhide. She limped out of the ring to be comforted by Inferno and Red Alert, only to be waylaid by Chromia, who did not approve of any of her femmes being defeated so easily or whining about it afterwards... even if the mech Firestar had been facing was Chromia's own sparkmate and it was inevitable that Firestar would have lost. Thoroughly chastised, Firestar slunk off to cuddle with her lovers. A breem later, Mirage and Cliffjumper took their places to begin the second match, which proved to be a little more interesting. The combatants were more evenly matched, even if their fighting styles varied significantly.

Sam cleared his throat. "Bee, you mind doing me a favour?"

"Sure," the scout replied, not quite looking away from the match. Mirage had Cliffjumper by the horns, wrestling him like one might wrestle a bull.

"Can you text Mikaela for me? I fried my phone yesterday," the boy sighed.

"Sorry to hear that," Bee replied. "I'll text her right now. What do you want to say?"

"I'm sorry... I love you... I hope you're okay..." He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven chin, grimacing at the rough sandpaper feeling against his palm. "I just want her to text me back. She's been giving me the cold shoulder ever since we fought and now it's driving me crazy. I want to read a text from her or hear her voice... Anything to tell me she's okay."

Bumblebee paused, then made a quiet noise. "Her phone is off right now, but she'll get the text when she turns it back on."

"I hope so," Sam sighed.

"She's supposed to be home soon anyways, right? You'll see her then," Bumblebee assured warmly. "There's no rush. You have all the time in the world to tell her what you want, Sam."

"I wish that was true."

* * *

Hound could barely keep his optics open anymore. He'd been drained of so much energy that his exhaustion was like a physical pain. He didn't dare rest for even a moment, though. Being taken prisoner by Nemesis did not give him the liberty of rest. It was not just himself he had to protect. Cradled in his palms was Mikaela's still form, her breathing shallow and her heartbeat weak. She had not opened her eyes in several hours and Hound was beginning to fear that her asphyxiation might have done more damage than he first thought.

The cave they had been taken to was cast in pure darkness. As much as Hound wanted to adjust his optics to be able to see what was around him, did not have enough energy to spare for it. The feeling of being left blind in the spark of enemy territory left him tense. The only reason he knew they were in a cave was because he could not fathom another place in the universe as dark as this one. He could sense the rise of the jagged walls around him, and could hear the shift of dirt through the ceiling. Occasionally, a small shaft of sand would fall, making the sound of rain as it pattered to the ground. The air was thin and musty, carrying the scent of dirt and other things the Autobot could not identify.

Nemesis was always close at hand. Long periods of silence would pass when Hound would think the monster was gone, but then movement and the glint of red optics would give the Dark Prime away. There were moments when it seemed the Nemesis Prime was intent on watching them, the light of his optics burning through the dark as he stared unblinkingly. Long, agonizing breems would pass as he would watch him. Perhaps he was toying with Hound, trying to see how much he could take until he broke?

Then there would be hours when Nemesis would ignore them. The sound of his pacing footsteps would echo through the cavernous space, sounding like they were coming from a thousand different directions. Sometimes the Dark Prime would talk to himself, or so it would seem. It was a language that Hound did not understand; it was not of Earth nor was it Cybertronian. The sounds made were deep and haunting, inherently dark and powerful. It was times like those that Hound hated the most because it was when the darkness seemed to get darker. The atmosphere turned thicker, as if filling with something deeper and darker than air but less substantial at the same time. Sinister things. He imagined tentacles slithering and writhing, mouths lined with sharp teeth. Weighing down on him was the sense of a dread gaze from unseen eyes; terrible, hungry, dead eyes.

For long hours he was forced to wonder if this was the Fallen... or something _worse_?

Movement in his palms had him looking down, even if he could not see the girl laying in his hands. He felt her shudder, turning over. Her body jerked to the side, her stomach emptying its contents over the side of his hand. The sound of the vomit hitting the ground was grotesquely loud. Soon after, Mikaela fell backwards and curled up into a ball, shivering violently.

"H-Hound?" she whispered, sounding hoarse and breathless. She groaned when she discovered how much she hurt all over. Her head especially. It pounded like someone was slamming a mallet against the inside of her skull. That pain was closely followed by the throbbing in her ribs, which felt like they had been run over by a school bus. The soles of her feet stung where the skin had been cut away, sand packed into the wounds. Her back burned where the kremzeek had nearly touched her.

"Ah'm right here," he whispered back, lifting her higher to blow a warm draft of air across her chilled skin, cold sweat slicking her flesh. When a single breath wasn't going to do enough, he tucked her close to a vent on his side where she'd have all the hot air he could spare. Her shaking hands clutched at him weakly. He barely felt her, and so was extremely careful while handling her blindly.

"Where are we?" she croaked.

"In a cave somewhere," Hound replied softly. He didn't know if he should tell her the details of their situation, or if he should spare her so as not to scare her more.

Mikaela made the decision for him. "Where in the world are we?"

The scout sighed. "Ah don't know. Mah GPS isn't working."

"Shit," the girl groaned. "How long have we been here?"

"Mah chronometer isn't working either, but Ah'm guessing several hours. You've been unconscious for so long Ah was worried you'd stay that way..."

"I'm awake now, I just don't know for how long," Mikaela assured weakly. Had she been able to see through the dark, she would have realized her vision was blinking in and out. The dizziness and nausea hinted at some kind of concussion. "We must be pretty deep down, 'cause I can't see a thing."

"Ah'd turn on my headlights, but Ah'm not sure either of us wants ta see whatever's down here with us."

There was a tense silence, then he felt Mikaela's small body press so close to his vent that her shoulder wedged into the opening. "I think you're right."

They felt the heavy presence around them. It was the darkness itself, filling up every crevice of the cave and seeping into the skin and armour like a malignant sludge. Thick, cold, and evil. Mikaela rubbed at her arms to rid herself of the feeling, only to feel like she was rubbing it in deeper. A shaft of rocks and sand fell from overhead, first striking Hound's shoulder before raining down on Mikaela. She jumped in surprise, sputtering as she tried to shield her face. When the rain of dirt was over, she looked up and saw two small beacons of red light floating in the gloom. She had no sense of distance in the dark, but she guessed they were several yards away. A deep undertone filled the cave, like the bass on speakers turned up way too high.

Hound growled deeply. His hearing was better than Mikaela's, so he was able to make out the subtle tonal changes. He knew Nemesis was communicating with the things in the dark again. Hoping to protect Mikaela, Hound turned so that she had the wall to her back and his frame curved around her like a shield.

"That's Nemesis, isn't it?" Mikaela whispered.

"Yes," Hound breathed, holding his charge tighter.

Mikaela pressed her face into the warm armour surrounding her. "What's he want from us?"

"Ah don't know. He hasn't said anything ta meh yet," Hound replied. "Whatever he has planned, Ah won't let him hurt ya."

"I know."

Neither human nor Autobot were sure how much time passed before the deep undertone faded. It could have been only seconds or it could have been hours. All around them, they felt the darkness deepen and thicken, wrapping around them like a dank veil of rotted, slimy things. With the end of the undertone, the cave drained of most of the malicious presence filling it. Unfortunately, Nemesis Prime stayed. His optics remained as smouldering embers suspended high in the air, an unblinking stare full of terrible things. There came the sound of someone snapping their fingers, followed by several streaks of lightning rushing into the cave. Four kremzeeks, two of them neon blue, one yellow, and the last one white, cast their electric light to illuminate the truly immense gaping hole in the Earth. It was both a beautiful and grostesque place; the cavern was a marvel to see in its grandness, but the jagged stones that jutted from the roof and rose from the floor gave the impression of being in the mouth of some horrible monster.

Nemesis settled back on his stone throne, ignoring the blades of sharp rock that jutted into his frame. He was in too good a mood to care for anything other than the small victory of catching his current prisoners. It had been easier than he had supposed it to be. Out in the middle of nowhere without backup? Without even a proper defence? It had been as if someone _wanted_ him to take them. Now the two of them huddled against the wall at the far end of the cave, one large Autobot curled around the human female in a desperate bid to hide her.

"I don't think we need introductions, do we?" the Dark Prime intoned lightly. If he could toy with them for a little while, he would.

"We know who you are," Hound growled, accent gone once again.

"And I know exactly who you are, as well," Nemesis replied with a knowing smile. "Like I said, no need for introductions."

Hound shifted, trying to keep Mikaela behind him while keeping an optic on Nemesis. "The Autobots know we're supposed to be due back home soon. They'll come looking for us."

"Isn't that what all prisoners say? '_Friends and family know I'm due back. They'll know I've been taken. They'll look for me_.'" Nemesis shook his head with a quiet chuckle. "Did it ever occur to you that I don't care? No one ever cares. The Autobots can look all they want- they'll never find you."

"You don't know what they're capable of," Hound said lowly. He wanted nothing more than to get up off the ground to charge the mech, but he didn't dare leave Mikaela unprotected.

"I see rage in your optics, Autobot. You're angry and scared." Nemesis turned his faceplate to the side, red optics glinting. "Obviously, you have no idea what you are dealing with either."

Hound steeled himself. "What do you want from me?"

"From you? Nothing," the Dark Prime shrugged. "It's the female I want."

Mikaela gasped quietly.

Hound pressed her to his frame. "I won't let you have her."

"Did I say you had a choice in the matter?" He rose from his throne in one smooth motion, stalagmites on the floor seeming to move out of his way as he glided forward like a slick of oil. "There is no more choice for you, Autobot. Mikaela is mine now."

"Over my dead frame." Hound came to his feet, prepared to fight.

"That can certainly be arranged." Nemesis tilted his head, amusement lighting his gaze. Hound's stance wavered, the effects of the energy leeches taking its toll on him. "You can barely stay on your feet."

"I got enough in me to fight."

"But not enough to win. Here, let me make it easy on you." A dark hand reached out, knuckles brushing against the back of Hound's forearm. The sensation was like a shot of pure ice and heroine. He went numb from the inside out, crashing to the ground in a deafening explosion of grinding metal. He remained online, but barely. His optics flickered while his frame convulsed. The force of his fall jarred the cavern, dislodging chunks of rock and dirt from the ceiling. Mikaela's screams guttered out as her lungs filled with debris.

"That was my good deed for the day," Nemesis intoned, rolling Hound's frame over with his foot. "I'll enjoy taking you apart later. Right now, I have your charge to see to-."

Mikaela wasn't about to give him the chance to do anything to her. Through the labyrinth of jagged rock formations jutting from the ground, a gaping hole in the wall was revealed. There was blackness beyond, but also safety. It was her one chance of escape and she took it, bolting for the hole.

"Damned little thing," Nemesis growled, watching her streak away. He gave chase at a slow pace, enough to keep the human moving but not enough to catch her. She would be his in the end, but there was no fun in the game if he didn't toy with her a little first. Watching hope crumble away was always better than never giving them hope at all.

In her head, all Mikaela could hear was Hound's voice screaming for her to _RUN_. She hadn't run fast enough last time, but she was going to run like hell now. She was going to run no matter what, even if it was the last thing she ever did. Even as her blood soaked the ground and sand caked her shredded feet. Her eyes blurred with tears, her lungs burning like fire, but she pushed herself harder. Hound had done everything to protect her and she wasn't going to let him do it all in vain.

Behind her came Nemesis's footsteps, lighter than what she would have imagined from a bot his size. He looked so much like Optimus Prime, it physically hurt to catch a glimpse of him out of her periphery. She loved Optimus as much as she could love anyone; to have someone steal his faceplate and use it for evil... it was sickening.

"I can't wait to dash the hope from your eyes, girl," Nemesis murmured, gaining on her. "Do you know how beautiful it is to see the light go out? Where I come from, it's a delicacy."

"_Kiss my ass!"_ she screamed back at him. Not exactly eloquent, but it got her point across. Vaguely she wondered if this is what Sam felt when he had been chased by Megatron across Mission City. Had he felt the same burn of adrenaline and the sting of terror?

So close to the gaping hole, movement in the gloom nearly had her stumbling to a halt. A jackal appeared, its short black fur standing on end. Teeth like ivory daggers bared. It met her wild gaze and started barking furiously, foam frothing from the corners of its muzzle. It could have been Mikaela's mind playing tricks on her, but as each bark echoed off the walls of the cavern like gun shots, they sounded suspiciously like: "Run! Run! Run! Run!"

The screech of a falcon pierced the air. Nemesis cursed vilely. There came an explosion, the sound of something heavy striking metal. Suddenly Mikaela's nose burned with the stench of funeral incense- frankincense, myrrh, and sandalwood. She didn't dare look back, but her hair stood on end with the realization that Nemesis was not the only one behind her anymore. There were many of them. Over the sound of Nemesis's struggles, the flap of wings and the pound of feet boomed like drums. Metal armour clashed against blades, the twang of bow strings followed by the scream of arrows piercing the air. Human voices and the screams of animals.

There was no time for Mikaela to puzzle this bizarre new twist in her bid for freedom. Whether this was a hallucination or something beyond her understanding, she didn't care. Her only thought was reaching freedom. As she shot past the jackal, it took off into the fray with a rabid snarl. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have sworn the thing went to two legs and rushed into battle like a man.

"Oh my god, oh my god," she cried breathlessly, running blindly into the dark.

"This way!" cried a woman, a warm hand taking Mikaela's in a tight grip. It was impossibly strong, but soft at the same time. Mikaela found herself propelled from her feet, flying through the dark recesses of the underground labyrinth faster than she ever thought possible to run. Despite the darkness, whoever held her hand seemed to know the way.

Her ears rang with the scream of a cat. _"Up! Go up!"_

Mikaela lost her breath as her body jerked, changing directions to a sharp ninety degree angle. The wind stung her eyes as she shot upwards. Fear choked her as she waited to collide with the roof. It was an impact that never came. The smell of damp stone hit her, and then she was enveloped by the feeling of being compressed in a hot vice grip. It was like she was being pressed through a space only big enough for a grain of sand. How long the sensation lasted, she didn't know. She held on to her saviour's hand for dear life.

When fresh air finally struck, she gasped while the world spun. Her legs gave out from under her, sending her to her knees. Sands and tears crusted her eyes. She clawed at her face, desperate to be able to see. Through her blurry vision, she saw the shapes of women surrounding her. A woman with the head of a lion, the other with the head of a cat, its lips pulled back in a snarl. The one that gripped her hand was both woman and power incarnate, the sun blazing from behind her eyes.

"What's going on!" Mikaela screamed, trying to wrench away from the one that held her.

"We're trying to save your life!" roared the lion-headed woman.

Just ahead of them, the golden sand blackened like rot and dropped inward.

"Ready yourselves. He's coming up," Isis ordered, gripping Mikaela tighter.

Bast and Sekhmet drew swords of inhuman craftmanship.

A head appeared above the lip of the pit, followed by shoulders and the rest of a frame. Not organic, but metallic. Seen in proper light now, Mikaela could not understand how she could compare this thing to Optimus Prime. They had a certain resemblance, but Nemesis radiated evil so thick that it seemed to contort his features. Clutched to Nemesis's front was Hound's frame. The scout was conscious again, struggling against the hands that held him by the throat.

Around Mikaela, the sand lifted into columns, forming the bodies of the gods who had fought below. She knew they were gods, because there was nothing else she could think of to call them. Their heiroglyphs on the walls of tombs did them no justice. In the blaze of Saharan desert light, they were terrifying creatures of impossible shapes and power. A man with a falcon head standing next to a jackal-beast that frothed bloody foam around its muzzle. Women with heads of lions and cats, fierce and impossible. A gigantic serpent that writhed across the sand, hissing and spitting. There were more of them forming from the sands, each bearing weapons for war. So many of them, coming in a thousand different forms.

Sekhmet jerked forward, blade at the ready.

Nemesis swung Hound's frame around, using him like shield. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You might nick the Cybertronian."

"Coward!" screamed the goddess.

"Tactically superior," Nemesis corrected smugly.

"Release the machine and fight like a warrior!" Anubis demanded, spitting froth from his muzzle.

"My fight isn't with you," said the Dark Prime, his grip on Hound tightening until the mech started choking, the armour bending inward. "My only interest is in the girl."

Isis moved in front of Mikaela. "This is no game, Nemesis Prime."

"Who says I am playing anymore?" With a sweep of his hand, the corporeal bodies of several gods exploded back into sand. "I am quite serious."

Hound clawed at the single that held him to no avail.

Nemesis glared at the Egyptian gods surrounding him. He was glad to have brought the Cybertronian with him when he took the girl; he served his purpose well to keep the Earth gods at bay. They were as bound to the laws of the universe as Psi was. Psi could not touch mortals from beyond his world and the same could be said of _Others_ on Earth. Where the Fallen fell short when it came to reason, Nemesis hoped the dieties of Earth were more acqiesent."Give the girl to me and no one has to suffer the same fate Selket did."

"If we let you have the human, we might as well all suffer the same fate Selket did," Horus snapped.

Nemesis made a disparaging sound. "What's the worth of a single human life to you? Is she worth the lives of your pantheon? Give her to me and we will have no fight."

No one moved, except to settle into battle-ready poses.

"You will have to go through all of us," Anubis snarled.

"Very well, if you choose to be that way." With the same hand as before, Nemesis swept the air with a single gesture as if dismissing the gods. A blast of hot power seared the air. Mikaela was thrown backward, stars erupting across her vision as she landed on her head. Through her wavering vision, she saw the bodies of the gods and goddess disintegrate into sand and blow away.

"Let this be a lesson for you- I am not to be trifled with," Nemesis announced, casting a hard glare to the empty air around him. "I am not of your kind or of the mortals. I have no intention of playing by anyone's rules but my own."

Both Mikaela and Hound stared in horror. Had they really just witnessed the murder of an entire pantheon of gods?

Nemesis observed his handiwork before regarding his human prisoner with an indifferent stare. "I disintegrated their corporeal forms- they won't be able to reform for a while." Even though they were gone from a mortal's eyes, he could still see them in the air. They were like ghosts now, but they could still do him harm if he did not keep Hound close as insurance. His audios rang with their furious curses of his existence. "Now it's just you and me, little girl."

Mikaela backpedalled across the hot sand. "I don't understand. Why are you doing this? What does the Fallen want?"

"The Fallen?" Nemesis drew back, shaking his head with a chuckle that was completely at odds with the stranglehold he had on Hound. "My dear, the Fallen and I have parted ways. This is a plan of my own doing, and as it so happens, you are exactly what I needed for some finishing touches."

"M-me?"

"Of course," the Dark Prime purred. "You hold the heart of the Allspark in your hands. What better way to break an enemy then to strike at his heart?"

She felt the bottom of her stomach drop out.

It was sick the way his mouthplates curled into a smile, his optics glittering like blood and jewels. "Your death will bring Sam to me one way or another, little girl. I will make the Allspark's power my own. With it, I can bring open a rift in reality that will bring the Dead Universe here."

"D-Dead Universe?" she stuttered, clutching handfuls of sand. The granules of sand slipped away between her fingers, just like the sand of an hourglass draining away. Soon, her time would run out.

"Yes, it is where I come from," Nemesis breathed, still smiling. "With the power of the Allspark, I can bring my brethren here and together we will devour every living soul this world has to offer."

"You'll kill everyone!" Mikaela exclaimed.

"I'll do much worse than that," Nemesis chuckled. "You should count yourself lucky. You're going to die before it all happens." His smile widened a fraction, though it never reached his optics. "I can't guarantee you'll get into heaven, but at least you won't be in the hell I will bring."

Everything about Nemesis Prime was so calm, despite the wounds he boasted from the fight he just had, despite Hound's struggles to get away from him. He was not at all disturbed to discuss Mikaela's impending murder in front of her. Even the murder of countless lives did not impinge on his conscience, except to delight him in some horrible way.

Hound's struggles renewed, more furious than before. "No!" he screamed. "You can't do this!"

"Yes, I can." Nemesis tossed the Autobot to the ground so hard a shock wave of sand blew up, momentarily blinding Mikaela. She screamed for Hound, choking as the cloud scraped down her throat and burned in her lungs. Hound never answered her. There came the brief sounds of struggle, but she never heard the Autobot call out. When the sand settled, he was pinned to the ground chest-down with Nemesis's foot bearing down on his back.

"Hound!" she screamed again, trying to run to him.

"No, Mickey! Go! Get away from here!" he yelled, waving his arms at her. No matter what he did, he couldn't get out from underneath Nemesis. "I said I would protect you, now GO!"

"I wouldn't try that if I were you," Nemesis said without bothering to look at her. His concentration was in the air, as if searching for a particular spot. "Look around you, Mikaela Banes. You are in the middle of a desert; if you run, I will only catch you. If that happens, you will die one of two ways- I will leave you in the desert and watch as you slowly die of dehydration, or I will take you back into my cave where I will removed your skin strip by strip and then I will take out all of your organs to see how they fit inside. I will do this while you watch." He sent her a single glance, challenging her. "I have ways of making you watch even after your heart stops."

Fresh tears washed down her cheeks as her knees bent, bringing her back down to the burning sand.

"Good," Nemesis murmured. "Now that you've made your decision, I will make your death quick. I will even let you say goodbye to those you hold dear." His optics flashed when he finally found what he was looking for. A soft spot in the world where the veil was thinnest. All it took was a gentle tug to allow reality to tear away like cobwebs. If he were not so used to the fragile nature of reality, he might have marvelled at how truly easy it was to tear away the world.

Mikaela could not tear her eyes away from the hole forming in midair. It was not like the black hole she had nearly suffocated from before. Instead, this one was much more like a window hanging in the middle of nowhere. The edges were distorted and ragged like a piece of torn cloth, but the inside was smooth and glassy, offering a perfect image of the other side. It was a large enough hole that she could see around Nemesis's hand if she craned her neck. Night had set on the other side; she could see stars, but also headlights flashing. Bright blue optics blinked in wonder. She recognized the faceplates of the bots staring back through the window; so many of them gathered in one place. A few of them were scuffed from sparring.

There was one face in particular that stood out in perfect clarity. Sam, sitting on Bumblebee's shoulder, his glowing eyes staring at her in horror.

While she watched the window open up, Hound watched her. He counted the tears that rolled down her cheeks. He could hear her heart beating like a hummingbird's wings. Mikaela did not deserve to be in this war. She didn't deserve to die at the hands of an enemy. She was sweet and strong and deserved to go back home to love Sam and take care of Chase and have a life of her own.

"I'm so sorry, Mickey," he murmured.

Mikaela's glazed eyes came down, trying to focus on him. "This isn't your fault, Hound."

Nemesis ground his heel into Hound's back until the armour buckled and the scout was forced to grit his mouthplates to keep from crying out.

Optimus Prime came to stand on the other side of the window, standing as a reflection to Nemesis Prime. One side light and the other dark. Optimus raised his hand to touch the glassy surface, testing the hole. There was no give in the tear; his hand did not go through. There was no way he could pass in order to get to Hound and Mikaela.

"So we finally meet faceplate to faceplate, Optimus Prime," Nemesis said, watching his counterpart with a hungry stare.

"Nemesis," Optimus intoned gravely.

Behind the Prime, a crowd of Cybertronians and humans shifted anxiously, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. Sam clenched Bumblebee's armour so tightly his knuckles bleached, his nails cracking against the hard metal. The air around him flecked blue with sparks.

Bumblebee himself did not react at all reasonably. A searing fire erupted through his frame as rage hit instantly. Nemesis Prime was the spark of all his troubles. He was the one who gave him the stain. He was the one who made him question everything he was. Without thinking, he jerked forward to rip the fragger's head off. Ironhide and Ratchet were required to take his arms to restrain him. It was only then that Bumblebee realized his vision had gone red. Even when he settled back, he still vibrated with a rage that screamed at him to fly through that hole and tear Nemesis apart piece by piece.

"What do you want, Nemesis?" Optimus demanded, keeping up a strong front. He wasn't about to show weakness in front of the enemy, not even when he could see two of his own laying at Nemesis's mercy.

"I imagine you've been getting my messages, yes?" the Dark Prime enquired, briefly glancing in Drift's direction.

Drift glared in return, his hand clenching around the hilt of his drawn sword. Given a single chance, he would cleave Nemesis's head from his shoulders and use it in a bowling tournament with the rest of the bots from Carnéval.

"You've made them extremely hard to ignore," Optimus replied tightly.

"I knew it would get your attention," Nemesis said. "I had fun popping all those little organics like grapes. I thought of you every time I did it."

Optimus's hands clenched into fists. "Enough of this. What are you doing with Mikaela and Hound?"

Nemesis raised his shoulders in a light shrug, entirely nonchalant. "I've been getting impatient, Prime. I know I only sent that last message a few days ago, but it feels like forever. I haven't heard back from anyone, so I decided to make a personal call."

"Come here in person and we'll be happy to _talk_," Sunstreaker snarled, claws out.

"Another time, perhaps?" Nemesis offered. "What I'm really interested in is the Allspark." His gaze travelled over Optimus's shoulder, focusing on Sam. "The _Others_ might be able to hide you from the Fallen, Sam Witwicky, but not from me. I know exactly who you are and where you hurt the most." He bent to the ground, snatching Mikaela in his fist like a boa constricting prey. "This is your weakness, isn't it?"

Mikaela gasped as the hand around her tightened. She _felt_ the crack of bones. Bend... bend... bend... _Crack! _Blood burst from between her lips when she screamed, doubling over. The fire that raced through her was like nothing she had ever felt before.

"You bastard!" Sam screamed, nearly throwing himself from Bumblebee's shoulder.

Nemesis unravelled his hand, letting Mikaela's body spasm in his palm. He ran his finger down her back in a mockingly gentle gesture. "Is that any way to talk to someone who holds your lover's life in their hands?"

"Give her back! She has nothing to do with this!" Sam demanded.

"She has everything to do with this," Nemesis replied. "Without her, do you think you'd been so willing to think life is worth living?"

"If you do anything to her, I will kill you," Sam spat.

"That would require you to come to me, which is exactly what I want," Nemesis said, smiling. "If you want her, you can have her back. All I ask for is the power of the Allspark in exchange."

Optimus moved to block Sam. "The Allspark is not up for negotiation."

"I knew you'd say that." Nemesis's smile turned devious as his forefinger pressed down on Mikaela's already broken ribcage. The scream that came out of her felt like it went on forever. A single piercing note that cut its way through the toughest armour, spearing through every spark and soul.

"_Oh god,"_ Will whispered, covering his mouth his hand as if he were about to be sick. At his shoulder, Epps was forced to turn away, gritting himself against the sound of the scream as it rang in his ears. Mikaela was like a little sister to them; she was like family to many of the soldiers and EDC agents on base. No one wanted to see someone they loved be tortured in front of them.

"Stop!" Sam screamed, blue tears freely falling from his eyes. "Please, stop!"

Nemesis released the pressure on the girl, allowing Mikaela to roll over and cough blood across his palm. Sweat poured from every pore. Fear radiated from her.

"Are you willing to negotiate now?" the Dark Prime wondered.

"Our answer is still the same. You cannot have Sam," Optimus gritted out. As a Prime, he had been forced to make a thousand difficult choices in his lifetime, but this was one of the hardest. Under no circumstances could he allow the power of the Allspark to fall into the wrong hands...even if that came at the expense of a single life.

"That's not your decision to make, Optimus Prime. Sam is a sentient being, isn't he? He's capable of making his own decisions." Nemesis watched Sam carefully, taunting him with Mikaela's broken body. "We can trade, if you want. Her life for yours."

"Don't do it, Sam!" Mikaela sobbed, the words garbled by blood and pain. "It's not worth it!"

"Hush, little girl," Nemesis breathed, gaze still on Sam. "How much is a single life truly worth? Would you give up everything for her, Sam? Would you give up your own life?"

"Yes," Sam croaked.

"No!" Mikaela screamed.

Ratchet was forced to let go of Bumblebee and take Sam into his own hands, holding him tight to make sure the human didn't do anything stupid. Ironhide fought with Bumbelee's increasing struggles. They nearly tumbled to the ground together.

Optimus turned back to look at Sam with an expression of true sorrow. "I'm sorry Sam, but we can't lose you."

"Are you _blind?_ He has Mikaela!" the man screamed. "We have to get her back!"

"No, Sam! _Don't!_" Mikaela shrieked.

Nemesis smiled poisonously. "Let this always lay on your shoulders, Sam. You were this close to saving the woman you love and those you trusted most held you back." His free hand hovered over Mikaela, ready to strike. "After this exchange, I will give you one month to consider surrendering yourself. At the end of that time, I will start taking the lives of everyone you hold dear until you have no one left. To help you make this decision, let this woman's death haunt you forever."

Mikaela's body disappeared under the weight of Nemesis's hand. He would smear her across his palms and paint her blood across the sands.

Hound finally took his moment to strike. Bucking up with as much strength as he could muster, he managed to throw Nemesis's foot from his back. Mikaela's frail body went flying, landing with a dull thump in a sand dune not far away. Her body curled up into a ball, bleeding profusely across the sand. With a roar, Hound took Nemesis to the ground, rolling and grappling viciously. He fought with everything he had. In his audios, he could hear the Autobots screaming for him, cheering him on.

"I won't let you kill her!" Hound snarled, hands locked tight with the Dark Prime's.

"Maybe I won't have to," Nemesis replied, heaving them into a roll so that he was on top. His gaze raked Hound from head to foot. A cruel laugh escaped him. "I see it now... why you're so intent on protecting her."

"No!"

"You love her," sneered the Dark Prime.

Hound ripped one of his hands free, punching Nemesis square in the faceplate.

Nemesis's head jerked to the side, jaw dislocated. He rammed his elbow into Hound's throat, stilling the Autobot long enough to crack his jaw back into place. "Your love runs deep. She's your... daughter." He laughed again, shaking his head. "Is there anything in this world more pathetic than that?"

The scout gave a snarl as he attempted to slice the Dark Prime's throat open with his blade.

Nemesis still laughed, grabbing both of Hound's arms and pressing them into the sand.

"I'll go to my grave protecting her," Hound spat, trying to wrench out of the hold.

"How will Mikaela go to her grave, though? Isn't that the more important question?" Nemesis taunted. He pulled back, drawing Hound up with him before slamming the scout to his knees. "One way or another, Mikaela is going to die today."

"I won't let you hurt her!"

"I'm not going to," Nemesis announced, leaning down to be on level with Hound's audio. _"You are._ I think it's only fitting if you do the honours. You are her adoptive father, after all."

"You can't do this!" No longer struggling to fight, Hound fought to get away. He was not going to be the one to end Mikaela's life. No matter his struggles, the hands on his shoulders remained firm. He could not rise from his knees. He was forced to kneel like a servant. Like a dog.

Mikaela spat into the sand, saliva red with blood. Dark spots danced in her vision. Her arms wrapped tight around her collapsed chest, feeling bone and muscle move in ways they were never meant to move in. Blood ran from the corner of her mouth as she murmured, "Do it, Hound."

Her words were barely a whisper, but they might as well have been a shout. Hound's struggles stopped, right along with his spark.

"You heard me," she coughed. "I'd rather you do it than him."

"Mickey, no. Don't say things like that," Hound pleaded.

"I want it to be you," she croaked.

Hound strained against the hands that held him, craning back to look Nemesis in the optic. "If you have any spark at all, you'll kill me instead."

"Kill you instead?" Nemesis repeated curiously, as if contemplating the idea. He watched as despair was replaced by brief hope in the Autobot's optics.

"I've lived long enough," Hound pleaded desperately. "I'll go quietly, I swear. Just let her go and I'll do whatever you want."

"That's quite the offer," Nemesis said lightly.

"_Please,"_ the Autobot begged.

"However... her death is worth so much more than your life. She dies. You get to live with the knowledge of what you are about to do." He smiled, loving the way the hope in Hound's optics crumbled away so sweetly.

"Hound," Mikaela croaked. "Hound, p-please look at me."

Helpless, his gaze tracked to her. She was so small, so broken. He could see blood smeared everywhere. Bruises were blooming darkly across her skin like black roses. Nonetheless, a shaking smile crept across her lips.

"I'm smiling, Hound. See?" She started to cry again, barely able to speak. It took nearly all the strength she had to keep smiling. "Everything is going to be okay."

"Enough stalling," Nemesis ordered. His hands clenched on Hound's shoulders; the armour broke apart and reformed into a shoulder mount. "No holograms, either. You don't get to save her." His grip tightened. Out of Hound's own control, his shoulder mount whined as it charged. Every degree the barrel heated up, his spark shattered into another broken piece.

Mikaela kept her chin up. "I want you to keep your promise, Hound. When you see Chase again, you have to tell her."

"Mickey, no-." His cry could barely be heard over the crackling heat gathering at the muzzle of the barrel. As hard as he tried, he couldn't gain enough control over himself to stop what was coming.

She turned to look through the window, looking to the one man she had trusted enough to give her heart to. "I love you, Sam."

The air detonated as super-charged plasma spewed from the tip of Hound's shoulder mount.

In front of everyone, Mikaela closed her eyes tight, spread her arms wide, and let the heat take her.


	26. To Mourn

Whoa, the response that came of the last chapter... It blew me away. Seriously stunned me. If I had known all it took to get some of you ghost-readers to review was to kill someone in a horribly violent and heartbreaking way, I would have done it sooner! 8D But anyways... yeah. Death is a tricky thing to thwart (unless you worked for DC or Marvel, in which case death means nothing and you may bring back anyone you choose through increasingly bizarre means). It certainly seems like no one can save Mikaela now. =(

My biggest and most heartfelt thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter: **Dazja, abarai-san, Cynthia, JenEvan, Litahatchee, ice around the moon, femme4jack, Der-Der, Shinypie, CNightJoy, Flameshield, Standout4Christ, Frenzy5150, DramaStar-Mel, Phoebe Turner, Midnight Marquis, EmberLady, FORD B, Violet, TransformersLover95, Poiseninja,** and **Lecidre**! I realize that sometimes it is hard to find words to say when something terrible has just happened (like when the author of the story you are reading decides to murder a [possibly] beloved character in a stunningly horrible fashion), so those of the many readers out there who found it in themselves to write a few words, you have my eternal thanks and gratitude!~

Special shout outs to a select few (**Lecidre**, **Supermoi**, **TransformersLover95** and **Chloo**) for their fantastic efforts reading and reviewing this monstrosity of a story I have here (and other selected works) in such a short amount of time. I do believe in heroes, my dears, and you three are among them~

Read, Review, and Enjoy~

**May We Never Let Go  
****To ****Mourn**

There was a scorched pit in the sand where a beautiful woman had been standing moments before.

The heat of the plasma had turned sections of sand into glass. The shapes were twisted and intricate, mournfully beautiful as they stretched upward in every sort of direction. A beautiful and horrible grave marker for the life that lived no more.

Black ash still fluttered in the air. Ashes that had once been a human body. There was a strange smell in the air to accompany the ashes; the lingering smell of burnt flesh. Acrid and perverse. Dusty, thick, and stale. The smell of _Death._

Reality settled in like a terrible weight.

Silence seemed to stretch on forever. As if time had halted in that single horrible moment, the empty hollowness opened wide and painful in everyone's chests. Of all the languages in the world, there were no words to describe the dirty, dying, diseased feeling of accepting the terrible waste of a beautiful life. Even for those who had dealt in death for so long they were stained with it, the starkness of death shone in the light of the unforgiving Saharan sun was more disgusting than any atrocity they had ever dealt or suffered.

In the blink of an eye, the life of beautiful, sweet, one-of-a-kind Mikaela Banes had been snuffed out. Forever.

A scream shattered the silence. A sound of pure agony ripped from the depths of a spark. Eyes and optics shot to the form of Hound, no longer restrained by Nemesis Prime. He collapsed forward, continuing to scream as it truly hit him what he had done. She had been his family. _His daughter_. He had promised to love her, to protect her, to not let anyone hurt her! Instead, he was the one to kill her.

"Ah'm sorry!" he howled, clutching handfuls of ash and jagged glass as if he could fit them back into the shape of a body. "Ah'm sorry!"

Watching him only made the scene worse. Seeing his uncontrolled despair. Listening to his grief-maddened screams. Anyone who saw Hound knew it was the scene of a father who had just witnessed, _participated in,_ the murder of his own daughter.

Sam howled.

Bumblebee screamed.

Autobots, humans, and all manner of creatures present for the murder hosted their own varying degrees of shock, horror, and disbelief.

Even Mirage, who still held tight to his long-lived prejudices, was forced to turn his head as he listened to his closest and dearest beloved friend mourn the murder of his human ward.

Nemesis Prime remained unfazed, if not a little amused by the despair his machinations had brought. There was a beautiful kind of futility in watching the green Cybertronian try to piece back together the ashes of the thing he just destroyed. It had been so long since he had actually been able to stand back and enjoy the true despair and mourning of another creature in the face of death. To be so close now, to have orchestrated the darkest moment of another living being's life, absorbing the sickly-sweet feeling of death and denial, agony and hatred... It fed the most darkest parts of his nature. His _true_ nature, which was beyond the metallic confines of the mortal cage he was housed in now, revelled in the pain. Now he almost regretted finishing the human off so quickly.

That was the trouble with death, especially incineration- it was so hard to reverse.

Having his fill of Hound's misery, Nemesis then directed his gaze back to the window that still hung in midair. His subtle amusement grew as he watched the expressions of the Autobots and organics who stood so close and yet so far. There was shock in their expressions. Denial. Some could not accept what they had just witnessed. Others accepted it, yet were shocked into motionlessness by the vehemency of their fellow Autobot's grieving.

Bumblebee was the first to break from the thrall. He could no longer stand to look at the black ashes as they stained Hound's hands. A choked sound escaped him, half sob and half sound of rage. Blue optics jerked away, focusing instead on the object of his utter hatred. Nemesis Prime. The mech who was going to pay for all of this. As Bumblebee's glared, his gaze bled from blue to deep, deep red.

Sensing the scout's regard, Nemesis turned to watch him. Bumblebee- his favourite plaything and very soon his newest acquisition in his bid to take this world. A smile curled his mouthplates, seeing how far the stain had progressed over the last few months. He was nearly completely consumed. It was only a matter of time.

From Bumblebee, his gaze tracked to Optimus Prime, then lastly Sam Witwicky.

"You have one month to give me the power of the Allspark," the Dark Prime decreed before closing the window with a wave of his hand.

* * *

Sideswipe laid on his side next to Roulette's motionless frame, tracing the tip of his finger up and down her front. The metal was warm and alive beneath his touch, which was reassuring. If there had been a hint of cold, he would have been tempted to seek out Ratchet. It would have been an unfortunate loss to lose Roulette. Not only because she was a dangerous sniper and spitfire spark, but because she was sharp of wit and so beautiful too. After so long of living with Sunstreaker, Sideswipe _knew_ what physical beauty was.

He'd given up fighting with everyone else to make sure she didn't come online alone. There had been enough times in cold med bays when he'd come online alone that Sideswipe knew it was never nice to realize no one cared enough to be there. Sunstreaker... Sunstreaker didn't always count, because sometimes they were no better than a single bot. Roulette didn't need to come online to the realization that the only bots in the world to keep her company were her fellow damaged bots Flamewar and Barricade and the less-than-tender disregard of Virus.

Down the long aisle of the intensive care unit, the door creaked open to admit one small medic.

Sideswipe shuttered his optics and listened to the familiar patter of Virus's tiny tapping feet. He had both good memories and bad memories of listening to the little medic move around. As he listened, he continued to trace the tip of his finger over Roulette's frame.

"You act as if she'll never come online again," Virus intoned disparagingly as she passed in front of the berth.

"Is it so wrong to want her to online to a handsome faceplate?" Sideswipe replied, the back of his hand caressing down Roulette's cheek.

"Handsome?" the medic snorted. "Perhaps, but not half so much as your brother."

"You can be so cruel, you know that?" Sideswipe chuckled lowly.

"I was never programmed for kindness," Virus replied simply. She wasn't programmed for a lot of things and she liked to use that as an excuse for a lot of things she did.

Unbothered by her brusqueness, Sideswipe shrugged. "Alright, fine. I'm not so handsome as Sunstreaker, but at least Roulette can come online to a friendly faceplate."

"She's fine the way she was without you mauling her," the small medic snorted, sending a narrowed look over her shoulder.

"I'm not mauling her," Sideswipe said with a frown.

"You're certainly not leaving her alone, either," Virus pointed out. "If you upset all the rewiring I had to do in order to get her spinal column reconnected to her processor, I will be _very_ upset."

"Fine." Sideswipe sighed, deciding to roll off the berth in case he really did hurt Roulette. He brushed himself off and looked around the room, watching as Virus approached the two occupied berths at the far end. Flamewar and Barricade occupied the berths, neither of them conscious or showing any signs of coming back online any time soon.

Being in a room with unconscious bots was pretty much the same thing as being alone.

He watched as Virus scaled up the side of Barricade's berth and then climbed over the mech's body, straddling his front. She hunched over in order to check the seams of the temp plating welded to his front. When she found a seam she didn't like, she started chipping it off in order to apply a better weld.

Sideswipe made a face as he observed her progress. Watching her work didn't offer the same kind of comfort that watching Ratchet work did. Ratchet had saved so many lives so many times, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's included, that it was sometimes hard to forget that the medic was only mortal. Virus, on the other hand... Sideswipe had seen her do too many terrible things to bots who had fallen in the gladiatorial rings to be completely comfortable with her working on living bots. Even though she had plenty of experience rewiring spinal column injuries, she was still better suited to the viral warfare she delighted in.

"I'm surprised you didn't go participate outside," Virus commented, still working diligently on Barricade.

"Didn't feel like it," Sideswipe replied nonchalantly.

"I find that hard to believe. I thought you liked showing off," said the medic.

"Like I said, I didn't feel like it today. Some things are just more important," said Sideswipe, glancing down at Roulette. He laid his hand above hers and gave a squeeze.

Although Virus didn't look away from her work, she continued to be aware of the red twin's preoccupation with Roulette. If she had been facing Sideswipe, he would have seen the slight frown that graced her mouthplates before it faded. "You're very fond of her, aren't you?"

Sideswipe needn't ask who she was asking about. He shrugged in return. "I think I am. Maybe I just like interfacing with her. She's the right kind of wild I like."

"But you don't know for sure if you like her?" Virus enquired, scooting her way over Barricade's front to better treat a place previously out of her reach. "Is it odd to not know what you feel?"

"Plenty of bots don't know what they want." Sideswipe shrugged again. "In my defence, it's been a little while since I've... you know, been really interested in anyone." Before he came to Earth, there really hadn't been any incentive to _care_ for anyone beyond his brother. It was easier to just lure someone to his berth or to a dark corner where no one would see them, and then be done with the bot as soon as he got what he wanted. He wasn't rude about it- he usually sent them off with smiles- but it was the truth that he could hardly remember the last time he had ever bothered with a steady relationship.

"Only a little while?" Virus wondered sceptically.

"A long while," Sideswipe amended with a sigh. "Me and relationships... well, the longest one I've ever had is with Sunny and I don't really have a choice with that one." He rubbed the back of his neck haplessly. "I guess now I'm having a hard time remembering what it's like caring for someone beyond him."

There came a quiet chink as Virus set her tools down, peering over at Sideswipe with her perpetually dull optics. "I think I understand the feeling... the not knowing how you feel, I mean."

Sideswipe watched her carefully for several long moments, then inclined his head. "You probably do."

As quickly as the moment came, it was dismissed. Virus picked up her tools and went back to inspecting Barricade's healing chest, making sure his spark was protected from outside elements. Sideswipe revved quietly and looked elsewhere. He wasn't overly fond of quiet moments. He searched for some topic to discuss, but Virus had a talent for making the tone of a room so awkward that it was hard to figure out what to say. It was a talent she had possessed even when she was Moonfly; Sunstreaker had always had a better knack for dealing with her.

He was both surprised and relieved when Virus was the one to speak first.

"How is Sunstreaker faring in the competition?"

Sideswipe cocked a half-smirk. "He was out in the first elimination round."

"That's impossible," Virus sniffed.

"I got myself an insider's look, remember?" Sideswipe said, tapping his chest where his half of their shared spark resided. "I felt it when he lost. He was _pissed_."

"You must have felt it wrong, then. Sunstreaker couldn't possibly lose to any of the Autobots here. It's simply unconscionable," Virus said, popping to her feet brusquely to jump from Barricade's berth to Flamewar's. She immediately began work on the femme, but her movements were not as calm as before. She looked flustered. The temporary plating that hung from her back in preparation to be welded to someone rattled a little too loudly.

"It's unconscionable?" Sideswipe repeated bemusedly.

"Of course," Virus huffed imperiously, casting him a look as if he were stupid. "Honestly, Sideswipe. Your brother, Sunstreaker- _Lose?_ Only if he lost his touch as a gladiator. Who was it that he was fighting?"

The red mech leaned back, bracing both hands on the berth behind him. "Can't say. I can read his spark, not his mind. Unless he tried to make it _really _clear who he was facing, I've got no clue. Must have been someone fragging tough if they were able to take him out, though."

"Or someone was cheating," Virus intoned darkly.

"Ratchet wouldn't allow that," Sideswipe pointed out.

Virus cast him a haughty look before turning her olfactory sensor in the air and getting back to work.

Sideswipe resisted the urge to laugh at her. She might mot have been able to understand her feelings toward Sunstreaker, but she made her loyalties _very_ obvious. He figured it was a quirk left behind from her removed loyalty programming that had forced her obedience to Megatron. She hosted fanatical loyalty to whomever she chose in order to fill the void Megatron could no longer fill for her.

In his sparkcase, his spark churned over in one long shudder, followed by another. Definitely not his own feelings. Sunstreaker's, obviously. A shock of some sort? Or horror? With a grunt, he hunched forward and pressed inward on his chest, trying to sooth away the discomfort. It still came as a mild surprise and discomfort to be so open with his brother after going so long of being shut off from each other. Was Sunstreaker shocked by a sudden outcome of a fight? Had someone unexpected won? Another wave washed over him, stronger than before. Too powerful to simply be a fit over someone stupid winning the whole match.

He grimaced, reaching out in an attempt to find out what was going on. Sunstreaker's end of the bond resisted for a moment before ripping wide open, allowing Sideswipe full access. Sunstreaker was trying to make it very clear what was going on. Sideswipe was given the dark impression of a faceplate with blazing red optics. Helplessness. And then death.

"Damn it," he cursed, running for the door.

"Has something happened?" Virus called after him.

Sideswipe didn't bother to answer. He rushed through the halls of the med bay, cracking the reinforced glass of the exit door out of the building when he smashed it open in his haste. He sprinted down the alley until he came onto the main road, drawing up short before a flash of rose-paint smacked him in the face. Another quick figure was bolting down the middle of the street faster than he imagined any Autobot short of Blurr could run.

"Elita One, wait!" he called after her.

She skidded to a halt, her optics wide and wild. "Something terrible has happened! Come!"

It was more order than request and Sideswipe was helpless but to follow. They ran down the main streets together, frightening pedestrians and drivers alike. Organic aliens scrambled out of their way as quickly as possible, shouting after them in hopes of finding out what the matter was. Neither Cybertronian paused to say anything. Sideswipe continued to feel his spark churn. Out of the corner of his optic, he noted Elita One's grim expression and guessed that she felt something similar in her own spark. They ran as fast as they could, pushing faster and faster.

"Slag!" Elita One suddenly cursed, jerking to a halt. Her curse surprised Sideswipe more than her arm swinging out and catching him across the chest did. He skidded to a stop a moment before the gloom of night was shattered. A column of bright white-blue light shot to the heavens. The heat of it was so immense that the air literally _screamed_. Both Cybertronians could feel the power of the Allspark racing over them. A roar came into the air as a massive shock wave comprised of power and super-heated dust rose up and raced their way.

"Get down!" Elita screamed, wrenching Sideswipe to the ground. He hit hard but moved instantly the moment he was down, flinging himself over the femme to protect her. Unlike him, Elita had no proper armour to protect her. He would be damned if he let anything happen to her.

The shock wave hit like an explosion, throwing them across the hard ground. Around them, the glass of hundred of windows from buildings and vehicles exploded. Elita dug her sharp fingers into Sideswipe's armour, holding on for dear life. Sideswipe gritted his mouthplates so he didn't cry out as he felt his paint blister across his back and sides. It was several moments before they dared to move again. The shock wave had passed, but they still felt the Allspark's power in the air. Looking to the sky, the pillar of light was still there.

"What the pit is Sam thinking!" Sideswipe exclaimed.

"Don't just sit there! Move!" Elita ordered, taking his hand and hauling him to his feet. The moment he was up, she was running away and he was forced to run after her. The closer they came to the edge of base where they knew everyone was gathered, the thinner the pillar of light became. When they finally came within seeing distance of ground zero, the pillar had become a pale reed of light wavering into nothingness. At its epicentre was the familiar shape of a human male. Spread out around him were over a dozen Cybertronian frames tossed back from the explosion and knocked unconscious.

Only one bot still stood, struggling against the massive gravity of power bearing down on him.

"Sam!" Bumblebee screamed in panic. "Sam, you have to pull it back! Fight it!"

The last of the white-blue light flickered away in faded wisps. Afterimages of light still blazed in Sideswipe's vision. He squinted into the restored darkness of night, searching out Sam's body. He saw the human stumbling, hands gripping the sides of his head. Sideswipe couldn't be sure if the human was screaming or crying. Bumblebee's hands were outstretched to him, sweeping the boy up to hold him against his chest as tightly as he dared. The tension in the air palpably drained out as Sam fell into stasis, taking the power of the Allspark with him. Bumblebee remained sitting on the ground with his human brother in his arms, holding him tight and rocking him back and forth.

Elita leaped over fallen frames in her haste to get to Bumblebee.

The scout continued to rock Sam's unconscious body, one hand petting the boy's back in a manner that was borderline hysterical. If he didn't get a grip on himself, he could accidentally crush Sam's spine. He was sobbing quietly as he murmured to Sam. His optics blazed red instead of blue, blinking furiously. When he finally sensed Elita One's approach, he looked up with a stricken expression.

"She's gone, Elita," he croaked. "He... he killed her."

Elita seemed to know already who he was talking about. She went to her knees and wrapped her arms tight around the scout, bringing him and Sam into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry, dearspark. I'm so, so sorry."

The moment Bumblebee's head touched Elita's shoulder, he broke into a wailing mess. It was crying like Sideswipe had never heard out of the bot before. One arm clutched Elita One tight while he bawled like a youngling- a small, scared youngling who only wanted someone to hug him and make everything right again.

Sideswipe looked away from the scene. He didn't get to cry like that anymore, and there was no one to hold him like that even if he did cry. Deciding it better to give them some semi-privacy, he searched the fallen frames that littered the ground. When he found a bot turned onto their front or whose limbs were flung in odd directions, he turned them over and adjusted them for their comfort. He found Sunstreaker amongst the unconscious. His chest and arms were gouged as if an animal had tried to rip him apart. The damages weren't from Sam's freak out, so they must have been remnants of his fight earlier.

"No wonder you were so pissed," Sideswipe whistled quietly as he turned his brother over and laid him out properly.

A muffled groan caught his attention. Looking down, he noted that the humans were starting to snap out of their daze. The aftershock of the Allspark's power was not as potent on organic aliens as it was on mechanical ones. One man flailed beneath the weight of the motorcycle that had landed on him from the blast of the shock wave. Sideswipe took pity on him and reached over to right the bike, allowing the human to pop to his feet and brush himself off.

"Hey, Rad, you on your feet?" another human yelled.

Rad stopped brushing himself off. "Yeah!"

"Help me get me on mine!"

"Coming Carlos!" Rad spared Sideswipe a grateful salute before running off to find his fallen comrade.

Simmons, who had fallen out of danger with little injury to himself, picked himself off the ground and surveyed the damages with a narrow-eyed stare. His shaking hands absently patted down his front until he found his pack of smokes and lit one, sucking in the hot smoke before blowing it out and saying, "The kid sure packs a punch."

Sideswipe frowned down at the agent. "Got any idea what happened for him to go Sparky?"

"Yeah, I do," Simmons replied hoarsely, looking away. He went on smoking his cigarette without saying anything else. His motions were jerky, his eyes haunted. While Sideswipe stared, he watched a droplet of water leak from the corner of the human's eye before it was wiped away.

"_Meep meep!" _

Sideswipe glanced up when he heard the familiar squeak. A trio of Cybertronians who had not been present for the games were rushing out. Tungsten and Perceptor rode on Beachcomber's alt mode as the laid back bot drove faster than Sideswipe had ever seen him move. Trailbreaker and Pathfinder approached from the opposite direction, racing across the desert to cross the rifts and find out what the pit had just happened.

"Sideswipe," Elita called, catching the red mech's attention. "Jazz still has his rapid reboot programming in place. He's coming online- can you help him?" She still held Bumblebee in her arms and was reluctant to let him go, so she could only nod in the right direction.

"Right." Sideswipe scrambled to Jazz's side just as the saboteur came sputtering back to consciousness. He was a little stunned that Elita had known Jazz was coming back online, but then again, Elita seemed to know a lot of things before they happened. Jazz flipped his visor back and stared up at Sideswipe, so the red mech smirked back. "Got knocked flat on your back, buddy."

"Did ya get the license plate of the lightning bolt that hit meh?" Jazz groaned, one hand to his aching head.

"Do you one better. Bee's got the lightning bolt who did it in his arms," Sideswipe replied.

"Sam," Jazz grunted.

"He totally kicked your aft," Sideswipe pointed out. "Actually, he kicked _everyone'_s afts."

"Frag," Jazz grunted, shoving away from Sideswipe. He didn't care how stupid he looked as he felt along the ground in search of Prowl, he did it until his knuckles bumped into familiar armour. The spark signature was strong on his resonance scanner, and the only injuries he felt on the tactician were the ones he had won from Chromia during their match. Jazz quickly surmised that whatever Sam had hit them all with, it had only been enough to overwhelm their neural nets without damaging them physically.

"What in the name of science happened here!" Perceptor exclaimed as he and Tungsten leaped from Beachcomber. Tungsten didn't say much beyond his usual "_meep meep_!" as he scrambled for Wheeljack's frame.

Trailbreaker and Pathfinder skidded into the area and voiced similar sentiments.

"That's what I'd like to know," Sideswipe sighed, regarding Elita One and Bumblebee solemnly.

Elita leaned away from Bumblebee and let her arms loosen, ducking her head to catch the scout's still-red optics. "Can you tell us what happened, Bumblebee?"

"I think so..." Bumblebee finally gathered enough of himself to stop his crying. He was a warrior, after all. His youth meant very little when compared to his lifetime of war. He cycled a deep draft of air, calming down to a point where he could make sense of the situation and report it properly. Elita One remained close, her hand laid soothingly to his back.

"Nemesis contacted us a short while ago," said the scout. "It was through a portal of some kind, similar to the ones he travels by. He..." He cast his eyes to Sam in his arms, hugging him a fraction closer. Like a child would hug a stuffed animal. "He had Mikaela and Hound as his hostages."

"He tried to exchange them for Sam, didn't he?" Elita murmured.

Bumblebee nodded, air shuddering from his vents as a fresh wave of horror and rage washed over him. "He... he hurt Mikaela in front of us. I've never heard a human scream like that before. She must have felt so much pain," he murmured. It was strange to be so affected by the horrors of war when he once had taken them all in stride. He had seen fellow warriors tortured, some of them killed; he had mourned for them, but it had never felt like his spark had been ripped out, stepped on, and set on fire. He did not recall ever feeling like a gigantic black hole had opened up inside him and was sucking out every ounce of life within him.

Was this what it was like to know peace and then be thrust back into war? What he felt now, was it how all the Autobots felt when they had lived their lives in peace before Cybertron plunged into war? The wounds cut deeper and hurt more because he knew killing and fighting wasn't a way of life anymore. He had begun to understand that he could expect to see someone the next day without always expecting them to die any at any moment. Earth had brought him a family and a means to understand everything he had never been given a chance to know.

Nemesis Prime meant to take it all away.

And yet... a dark part of him almost wished to have never known peace in the first place so that the realities of war didn't hurt as much as they did now.

Bumblebee cast his optics down to the man in his arms, rocking him back and forth as if the gesture would mean something.

Elita stroked his back, noting how lost in his memories he had become. "Dearspark, tell us the rest."

Bumblebee barely nodded. "Nemesis wanted Sam, but we couldn't give him up. We couldn't give Nemesis the Allspark because... because..." He trailed off, heaving air raggedly. It took several moments for him to be able to speak again. "Mikaela was supposed to be a lesson. He didn't kill her himself... he made Hound do it. We all watched her be... incinerated. After that, Sam lost control. He started screaming and cursing at Optimus and then he lost control. He knocked everyone out."

"How'd ya manage ta stay online?" Jazz wondered carefully. While he may have had his rapid reboot program, Bumblebee no longer had that advantage ever since Ratchet had found the bootleg copy in the scout's databanks and had a tantrum over it.

"I don't know," Bumblebee sighed, turning one hand over to inspect the mottled nature of his armour. "I guess I'm not like everyone else anymore." To be clear, he had never been like anyone else a moment in his life, but it was a little more obvious now.

"That Nemesis is a sick fuck," Epps spat, holding his side where he had landed from the blast. Nothing was broken, but it sure as hell was going to bruise some bad. Will was next to him with an arm threaded under Epps' shoulders, a glistening red trail of blood streaming from his nose.

"We have one month to give in to his demands, or he is going to hunt down Sam's family and kill them one by one until there is no one left," Bumblebee concluded on a weak note.

Sideswipe scuffed the dirt in disgust. "That doesn't give us much of a choice, now does it? We can't hand the Allspark over, but Sam sure as pit won't allow us to lock him away while the rest of his family is slaughtered."

"Then we will have to make our own choices, Sideswipe," Elita intoned evenly. She leaned in to rub her forehead gently to the side of Bumblebee's head before she got to her feet. She cast her fallen sparkmate a pained look before cycling a steady drag of air and tilting her chin in the air. Her expression, even the way she held herself, changed. Not drastically, but there came an air about her that was reminiscent of the past when she had radiated as much command as her sparkmate did. "Optimus Prime and the regular chain of command is currently out of commission, which is an inconvenient situation to be in when we are facing such dire circumstances. We will need someone to fill in the gap until the right bots come back online."

Sideswipe immediately sat up a little straighter. "Does that mean...?"

"It does," Elita confirmed with a curt nod. "In light of Optimus's current state, I will be assuming command of the Autobots for the foreseeable future."

"With all due respect, Elita One, it has been a very long while since you have taken on such a mantle," Perceptor intoned carefully. "Perhaps you should allow Jazz to assume command until the others come back online?"

"Is that your polite way of telling me you think I am unfit for duty, Perceptor?" the femme enquired, arching one sharp optic ridge at the microbot. "It has been my _choice_ to excuse myself from warfare for as many years as I have been on Earth. In that time, I have never stopped being who I am as the Prime's mate or as a capable commander. I cannot erase what Shockwave did to me, but I refuse to let it break me."

"I did not mean to imply that you were incapable-."

"You were only concerned for my welfare, I know." She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. "There is no longer the luxury of caring for my own comfort. I do not like the idea of involving myself in war again, but clearly I have little choice in the matter. I will fulfil my duties as acting-Prime to the best of my abilities." She paused, pursing her mouthplates as she looked out over the small ragtag group of Autobots she had left standing. "Is there anyone else who objects to my command?"

"More power to ya, Elita," Jazz said with a smirk. "If ya need a second in command, ya got meh."

"Excellent," Elita said. She drew herself up a little higher, emboldened by the fact that she had everyone's support.

Sideswipe grinned rakishly in spite of the dire situation. To see Elita One back to the femme who took charge and kicked aft was a blast from the past he was more than happy to see. If anyone, transformer or otherwise, decided to say anything stupid about her being acting-Prime, he would be more than happy to whack some sense into them. As far as he was concerned, if they couldn't have Optimus Prime, then Elita One was the next best thing.

"Bumblebee," Elita intoned, causing the scout to jump. "As my first command as acting-Prime, you are hereby reinstated as Sam's guardian, effective immediately. There is no one here I would trust more with that boy's welfare than you. You are to take him back to his apartment and watch over him. The moment he comes out of stasis, I want to be informed."

Stunned by the unexpectedness of the command, Bumblebee sat blinking up at her. When it finally clicked, he stumbled to his feet and jerked a bow. "Yes, of course."

"Take Tungsten with you. He's small enough to fit inside the building so that if something happens and your hologram shorts out, there will still be someone there to look after Sam," Elita continued.

"I'll be right there the whole time!" Tungsten chirped, saluting proudly.

A small frown appeared on the femme's faceplate. "Where is Felicity Spring? She will need to see to Sam."

"Down here," a random human called, propping the doctor's unconscious body up. "Looks like she took a hard one to the head."

Elita frowned deeper as she surveyed the various damages wrought on the collection of organics present. "Take her to the med bay along with all of your other damaged personnel. Send doctors to Sam's apartment to make sure there are no complications." Her gaze switched to Simmons, watching him smear out the butt of his cigarette. He noted her attention on him and he straightened himself out accordingly. "Reginald, you are aware that someone will have to inform Chase of this latest development."

"It might have crossed my mind," the agent said hoarsely.

"I want you to do it," Elita ordered. "You are my closest human friend, I trust you, and I feel that it would be better if a human were to deliver the news rather than someone else. And as much as I hate to say this, you have experience with sort of thing."

"God, I hate my life," Simmons sighed, running a hand over his ashen face. "I'll do it for you, Elita. I just need a ride in."

"Car's still working. I'll drive," Will croaked, nodding to one of the few cars which had remained upright after Sam had gone Sparky. "You shouldn't do it alone. Chase deserves more than that."

"Yeah." The agent reached for his pack of smokes again and lit another one.

Sideswipe glanced down at his brother, then back up at the acting-Prime. "You want us to start towing everyone to shelter?"

"Yes. It would do us no good to have everyone laying out here in the open for so long. I don't like the idea of what might happen to them," Elita said. "You, Pathfinder, and Trailbreaker will tow them to the med bay. If that's too far, you may leave them in the _Loki_. They should be safe enough in your ship."

"Yeah, safe enough," Sideswipe shrugged, cracking a crooked smirk up at his colourful ship. The _Loki_ was seeing more action now than it ever had in years. Maybe even vorns.

"They'll wake in a couple of joors anyways. A day or two at most," Jazz intoned, patting Prowl's limp hand. "Ratchet will most likely be the first to come to. He'll be able to take care of the rest."

"That's what I'm hoping for," Elita replied. "In the meantime, Jazz you're with me. We will be contacting all active Cybertronians on Earth and requesting that they come here regardless of any standing duties they may have elsewhere. Our numbers are thin and we are too spread out to deal with this development as we are. If this needs to be a total recall, then so be it."

"Ya want meh ta contact the bots in Beta Zen as well? Ultra Magnus could probably spare a ship or two," Jazz intoned. "We need the numbers."

"Leave them be. They will be joining us shortly anyways," Elita said, regarding the sky with a shrewd look.

"And us?" Beachcomber said, gesturing between himself and Perceptor. "What do you need us to do?"

"I will need you two to go below and prepare as many rooms in the barracks as you can. Prepare the other buildings as well if you have time. If we have guests coming, they might as well be comfortable." She twined her fingers in front of her, glancing around as if trying to decide if she had forgotten anything. When she was sure that all the necessary orders had been given, she raised her chin again and put her shoulders back. "You have your orders, Autobots. See to them immediately. We are not going to let Nemesis win."

"Yes, ma'am," they all chimed determinedly.

* * *

Simmons stared out the back window of the moving car without truly seeing the landscape pass by. Out of respect for Will and Epps, both of whom despised the stink of cigarette smoke, he had not lit a smoke since they had left base. The need for a cigarette itched beneath his skin. The burn of the smoke wouldn't take the pain away, but it would give himself something to do. Something to distract him from reality for a second or two.

Up front, Epps flipped open the glove compartment up front and shuffled through it until he found what he was looking for. A little pack of white tissues. He pulled one out and handed it to Will to allow him to wipe the smears of drying blood off his face.

"You know," Will murmured, wiping his nose and then his stained chin. "The first time I ever saw Mikaela was in the Hoover Dam. I thought she and Sam were a couple of tourist kids who got lost." He shook his head, shoving his used tissue down between the car seat and the console.

"Forgot about that. They were just two kids back then- Sam was all twitchy, but Mikaela wasn't flinching at anything," Epps intoned wryly. "Then Starscream attacked the place and Megatron got loose...The two kids were taking the situation better than most of the S7 agents in there." He twisted around to glance at Simmons. "Sam really showed you up, didn't he?"

"He was a know-it-all brat," Simmons said with a shake of his head. "First time I saw Mikaela, I was arresting the whole Witwicky family on grounds of conspiracy with NBE lifeforms. She was the only one who wasn't freaking out over being arrested. Feisty thing. She was in my face about it."

"She's a tough woman," Will said, then frowned. "_Was_ tough."

"I can't believe she's gone," Epps murmured.

"Yeah..." Will wiped discreetly at the corner of his eye with the sandy hem of his sleeve. "We saw it, but still..."

"None of us expected something like this," Simmons said bitterly. "That's the bitch about life. One moment we're here and the next we're not." As he said the words, he was back in Bolivia over twenty years ago. He saw his brother cracked to the core, fighting demons and ghosts that were only real in his head even as he shot at them with a real gun. One moment, his brother had been alive. In the next moment, Simmons had followed orders to pull the trigger and put a bullet in the rouge agent's- _his brother's_- head. Gone forever where his demons couldn't hurt him and he couldn't hurt anyone else.

"I just didn't think it'd be _her_, you know?" Epps pressed, pounding his fist lightly against the inside of the car's door. "It should have been any of us, not her. We're the ones out in the field putting our lives on the line. We fight, we kill, we do everything to protect this country and the people, but she's the one who pays for it? If there was a God, this is the reason I'd hate him."

"It's not God's fault Mikaela is dead," Will said.

"Try telling Chase that," Epps replied darkly. "I'm sure that'll be a great consolation to her."

Will frowned, gripping the steering wheeling too tight to be calm about anything.

Simmons scrubbed his face roughly, wiping away the moisture from the corners of his eyes. "I've told enough people that someone they love is dead... there's nothing that ever makes the news any easier."

The car shuddered and creaked as it turned off the semi-flat asphalt of the highway onto the beaten path of tyre tracks that would lead them straight to the Banes household. Simmons turned his pack of smokes over in his palms, frowning at the outline of the holographic rocks that hid the house from prying eyes. They drove around the illusion into the small yard hidden beyond it.

Chase was out on the front step in a lawn chair, one arm dangling over the side with her fingers wrapped loosely around the neck of a beer bottle. Her tired face was illuminated by the dull glow of the porch light above her and the blue glow of her cell phone screen as she checked and rechecked for messages from Mikaela or Hound. Messages that would never come. A couple steps below her, Raoul and Miles lounged with their own bottles of cold beer, passing a scraggly joint of marijuana between them. From the open living room window to the right, the sounds of a classic rock radio station completed the late night scene.

As the three men pulled up on the front lawn, Chase glanced up from her phone and frowned. "Shop's closed, boys. Beat it."

"We're not here for a tune up, Chase," Will said quietly.

Miles squinted, his glowing eye looking fiendish in the low light. "Here for something else, then?" He sucked back the last of the joint and blew away the pungent smoke, dropping the last scrap of its paper wrap into the dirt. The party the other night had gone until dawn and Miles had only woken up from his stupor with a smashing headache a couple of hours before. Beer and a joint was his own personal vice for getting rid of a hangover.

"You look like someone kicked your puppies," Raoul pointed out.

"We've got some bad news," Simmons said lowly. "Let's go in the house first, shall we? We can all sit down and-."

"Let's not," Chase cut in, rising from her seat and coming down to the ground. The blackness of her eyes seemed to go on forever as she came to stand before them. "I know those looks on your faces. I've seen them before."

Simmons closed his eyes and shook his head. "I bet you have."

A pair of strong hands came up and held him by the front of his shirt. To anyone watching, it would have looked like the usual posturing Chase liked to put up. Only Simmons knew that the hands that held him were shaking. He could feel the trembling in her grasp. She was scared. She knew the looks that people wore when someone was dead.

"Don't mess with me, Simmons," she said lowly, cracking by the end of the sentence. "What happened? You wouldn't be here with that look on your face unless something happened." When she didn't get an immediate response, her grip tightened until she was able to lift him slightly. They were roughly the same height, but fear gave Chase strength. "You tell me right now why you're here-."

"Put me down and I will," the agent said gently, prying her hands from his shirt. He came back down on his heels but kept her hands held between his own, both to comfort her and to prevent himself from being punched in the face. He could still feel her hands trembling as he tugged her close. This wasn't normally the method he used when breaking the bad news to people, but Chase... She was a little different, and so was Mikaela. They deserved a little more respect.

"Are you sure you don't want to sit down?"

"Just tell me," Chase breathed.

Simmons nodded solemnly, watching her eyes the entire time. "Something happened earlier this evening. Mikaela and Hound were taken hostage by Nemesis, who tried to exchange them for Sam. Negotiations broke down."

Her mouth parted on a shaky gasp. "H-Hound...?"

Simmons took a slow breath, shaking his head. "Not Hound, Chase."

"_Oh god..."_ He could feel the moment that it clicked in her mind. The moment that Chase realized she would never see her niece again, every muscle on her frame locked up tight. She scarcely drew a breath. The shiny blackness of her eyes dulled, the flush under her russet skin turning ashen.

"Are you sure?" she croaked.

"We saw it ourselves," Simmons murmured, squeezing her hands as they clenched around his own, her short nails digging into the skin. She gripped him so hard that she cut the skin and made the bones grind together.

"Mikaela can't be dead," Chase breathed. "She can't be... I just talked to her last night. She's supposed to be home in a couple of hours."

Simmons felt the sting of tears in his own eyes. "She's not coming home, Chase. Not anymore."

It was slow at first, but then her dawning realization brought with it the full horror of the news she had been told. Simmons had seen the faces of so many people during the worst moment of their lives, but it never got any easier to watch them break down. Some of them screamed and raged while others collapsed into terrible hysterics. He'd heard people beg for it to be a lie. Others cursed their personal gods, spitting and swearing at the sky. The most heartbreaking of all were the ones who cried. The ones who simply sat down and cried quietly while they fell apart inside that broke Simmons' heart the most. It was the resignation in their eyes, the way the lights went out and the colours went dark as they accepted the finality of death without a fight... it got to him.

For Chase, there was only tears. Tears like rain down her cheeks, which came as a shock to the men around her who realized they had never seen her cry before. Her face crumbled, her body slowly collapsing to the ground. Simmons went to his knees with her, releasing her hands in order to wrap his arms around her shaking body. She screamed a raw sound of pure agony that cut straight to the bone. Her arms wrapped around her chest as if trying to keep herself from falling apart, screaming and screaming into his shoulder until she choked. And then she cried. Long, heart-wrenching sobs that sounded as if they were dragged up from the very depths of her soul. Sounds that were alien and nearly grotesque. Simmons wrapped his arms around her tighter and felt sick the way Chase felt so tiny in his arms.

He hated the fact she had already experienced so much loss in her life that she didn't fight death anymore. She simply accepted it now and cried over the terrible unfairness of the world. It was the kind of crying he hated most because it made him want to cry too.

He had meant it right down to his soul when he had said he hated his life.

Miles stumbled from the porch step, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks. "What about... what about Sam?"

"He put himself in stasis. Bumblebee and Tungsten are with him now," Will said hoarsely.

Miles raked his shaking hands through his tangled blond hair. "Oh my god, I gotta be with him. I..."

"You're high, kid. You're not driving anywhere," Will muttered.

"_Fuck." _His one human eye was red, the pupils nearly swallowing the moon-pale grey of his iris. Fat tears stung like acid down his cheeks. He pulled his pentagram necklace up from around his neck, kissing the pendent shakily for comfort.

"In a couple of hours when I'm sure you're back to yourself, you can take my car and drive out," Will said, looking away from the young man.

"Miles," Raoul called from the porch step, scrubbing his face with the collar of his shirt. "Come sit down, man."

Like a zombie, Miles wandered back to his seat. He flopped down bonelessly and hunched over until he turned over the side of the steps and vomited. Once his stomach was empty, he continued to cry.

Raoul quickly reached over and brought Miles into a tight embrace, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He was not immune to the death of one of the women who had saved his life. Mikaela had wanted to keep him, hide him as an illegal alien and let him work in the garage for as long as he wanted. She was the one who had convinced Chase to give him a chance. Without the Banes women, without Mikaela's kindness in particular, he probably would have been dead by now or forced to go back to his family in Mexico, who most certainly wouldn't have understood his choice of same-sex partners.

The radio kept playing while everyone cried. Untouched by misery, Trooper played on, proclaiming amid pseudo-cheerful classic rock that _"we're here for a good time, not a long time..."_

Simmons' ass was numb and his knees were sore by the time Chase managed to cry herself out for the most part. There would be more tears on the way, but the first wave was done. Knowing Chase, she'd try to get as drunk as possible before the second wave hit. Sometimes that was the only way to numb the pain. Her eyes were swollen and sore, her head hurt, her mouth and throat thick with phlegm. All the symptoms of a deeper hurt that would never go away. When she tried to shrug out of his embrace, Simmons let his arms fall away. He watched as Chase sat back, closed her eyes, and turned her face to the sky for several long minutes. It was almost like she was praying, but he knew she was the opposite of a religious woman.

When she tilted her face back down and cracked open her red-rimmed black eyes, her mournful gaze locked on Simmons. "You said you saw everything, right?"

"Yeah." In his mind's eye, he heard Mikaela's screams as she was crushed. He felt sick with the echo of cracking bones in his ears. The thump of her body hitting the sand. He saw her tears soak her face. The grotesqueness of her bright red blood smeared across her tiny body.

"Did she..." Chase took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Did she feel anything?"

Simmons cast a measured glance back to the two soldiers he held a love-hate relationship with. They stared back with stricken expressions, knowing the truth would probably only send Chase right over the edge. No one wanted to know that someone they loved died was tortured before they died. Knowing how mauch pain Mikaela had been in would only torture Chase until she found her own grave at the bottom of a liquor bottle. Taking a deep breath, Simmons prayed to whoever was listening that he be forgiven for the lie he was about to tell.

"She didn't feel anything, Chase," he whispered. "It was quick. Painless. Here one minute, gone the next."

"Good. I wouldn't want her to suffer," Chase croaked, a few stray tears leaking down her dark face.

Simmons nodded in silence, hating himself more than he ever had before. Even if he went to hell for the lie, it was worth it if it gave Chase a moment's worth of peace. She needn't ever know what Mikaela went through the moments before she closed her eyes tight and spread her arms wide like angel wings.

* * *

"What a terrible waste of a life," Isis sighed as she and her gathered pantheon gazed down at the scorched sands.

Nemesis had gone back beneath the sand and had dragged his Cybertronian prisoner with him. _Hound_ was the alien's name. The gods could still hear him crying deep beneath the sands. He'd fought so hard for the life of his charge. Fought like any good father would. Now his misery was so thick it drenched the tongues of the gods like a bitter syrup. If there was anything they could have done to ease his pain, they would have, but he was beyond their approach.

"We should have stopped this madness at the beginning," Anubis spat, reverted from his beastly form to something much more reasonable. He paced the sands like a trapped animal. The many wounds he had sustained from battle were slowly suturing themselves.

"We had no way of knowing what Nemesis Prime's true nature was when he was first brought to this world," Horus sighed. "We thought him as mortal as any other being. Only a pawn for the Fallen and his devouring master to play with, no harm to us."

"How wrong we were," Thoth intoned solemnly, encompassing the folly of all _Others_ from all pantheons. Normally not one for words, he was a scribe god who preferred to record the happenings around him. His long, thin beak was broken and his hands were twisted from battle.

"The moment Allspark touched down, it should have been expelled from this place," Bast hissed. "Without it, none of this would be at our feet now. The Cybertronians never would have come to this place! Gods wouldn't be dying. This one woman would still be alive."

"Gods are not beyond corruption, Bast," Horus said, shaking his feathered head. "You know as well as I do that all the _Others_ of this world wanted the Allspark. We wanted the power. We are a small planet with many forgotten gods- power is all we have left now."

"And how many lives has that mistake cost us?" Sekhmet cursed. "We are supposed to protect the people of this world and yet Nemesis swats them down like flies. He swats us aside as if _we_ are flies! Nothing we do can touch him anymore."

Isis knelt to the ground, taking a handful of sand in her palm and letting it run through her fingers. "The least we can do is find the girl's _ka_ and pass her on in peace. It is an inadvertent kindness that Nemesis did not consume her."

"How odd," Anubis breathed, turning his nose to the air and sniffing gently. "I have yet to sense her _ka_ anywhere. It couldn't have been annihilated by the Cybertronian's gun, could it?"

"You know better than that," Isis admonished, sifting through the sand some more.

"She's not of our pantheon," Sekhmet pointed our warily. "Perhaps one of those angels took her already? They're practically everywhere nowadays- like a plague."

"An angel, perhaps..." Horus murmured unsurely.

They were all given pause as the scent of apples drifted past their noses.

"I can attest that no angel has been here yet," Lucifer announced coolly, materializing as _Others_ were wont to do as they pleased. Much unlike his Egyptian company, he was impeccable as always in his spotless white suit and perfectly quaffed wings.

"You are hardly an angel," Bast sneered.

"True, but I still have my connections," said the devil with a crooked smile. "No angel has been here and no soul has been collected... mostly because no soul has been released yet. Technicalities like that are such a bitch." Granted, that's never stopped him from taking souls when the opportunity arose, but that was beside the point.

"If there is no _ka _for you to collect, what are you doing here?" Isis enquired.

Lucifer canted his head, his cool smile handsome and cruel as always. "I would have thought you'd have guessed by now."

Anubis drew his lips back over his fangs. "We're not interested in your games, demon."

"No games," the devil promised, raising his hands as a gesture of harmlessness. "I've come because I am the resident expert of Fallen peoples, and it just so happens that we have one in our midst."

Isis's eyes shot wide. "Do you mean to say...?"

"Oh yes, I do." His gaze slowly tracked to the final resting place of Mikaela Banes, which looked extremely convincing as an empty pit of scorched sand and ash. "It's time to come out now, Psi. You have some explaining to do."


	27. To Make a Deal

_Ka- _Alright, since a lot of reviewers seemed to be confused about the use of the term "_ka_" in the last chapter, the only right thing is to elaborate on it for everyone, reviewers and non-reviewers alike. _Ka_ is simply one the ancient Egyptian terms for the part of the soul that is supposed to pass on into the afterlife. I have the ancient gods using their own terminology for a soul, since their own understanding of mortal death is unique to their pantheon. Had Mikaela's perceived death taken place in the Trobriand Islands or in Arnhem Land in Australia where the concept of "soul" is understood/divided differently, I would have used terminology appropriate to the overseeing spirits of the region. Lucifer uses the word "soul" exclusively because he operates under the Judeo-Christian concept of soul as a singular entity that is the basis of an individual. Using the different terms for "Soul" is my way of respecting the gods (and other beings) of whose likenesses I am portraying in this fiction. I apologize for any confusion. Sometimes I forget that things that seem obvious to me is not always so obvious to everyone else. ^^;

For everyone who reviewed the last chapter- _thank you_. Thank you so much. You guys are the best! It was a tough chapter to write since I did invest so much personal experience into it. Hearing all of your support of the chapter and the grief portrayed within was extremely encouraging. Ultimately, my deepest thanks to **Pruhana, Poiseninja, femme4jack, renegadewriter8, Standout4Christ, The King of Pain, Supermoi, FORD B, CNightJoy, Midnight Marquis, TransformersLover95, phoebe turner, Frenzy5150, Lackia, Violet, EmberLady, Litahatchee, Sprikolas, ice around the moon,** and **Lecidre**! You are all the best! ^_^

Read, Review, and Enjoy~

**May We Never Let Go  
To ****Make a Deal**

Not a moment passed before the sands began to shift without winds to move them.

The perceived scent of burnt flesh blew away as if it had never existed in the first place. Only an illusion. It was then replaced with the revealing stink of cold rot and stale musk; the familiar stench the _Others_ of Earth had become accustomed to when Psi was in their presence. They watched with varying degrees of disapproval and wariness as layer upon layer of sand and illusion peeled away to reveal a lump of undefinable substance- smoky tar or solid black water. The dark mass came in the shape of a round cocoon, churning in a manner similar to dark clouds in a storm.

"You may want to cut the theatrics, Fallen," Lucifer intoned dryly. "Nemesis is still close at hand. If he becomes wise to your presence, I imagine you would have some trouble on your hands." The devil checked his manicured nails. "Don't expect any help from us."

There came a shushed sound curiously similar to the word _bastard._ Immediately afterwards, Psi's spectral form moved a little more quickly to reveal that all was not empty within the protective cocoon he had formed. Folded delicately within was a single human body. She was shaking and pale, but looked miraculously alive for a woman who was supposed to have been incinerated. Psi placed her gently on the sand in a gesture that seemed at odds with his endlessly cruel nature.

"By the sun," Isis breathed, sinking to her knees by the human woman's side.

Psi reformed into a shape native to his own world, the form of a black-armoured Cybertronian. As nonchalant as he pleased, he stretched up tall as if working out the kinks in his frame. He blinked his amber gaze up at the too-bright sun and made a face at it, disapproving of that great ball of fire. Even if he could walk in the light, he did prefer the cool presence of darkness. Call it a quirk most evil bad guys had. He turned his gaze down to the gathering of creatures around him.

There was smugness in his optics. He took cruel joy in having pulled the wool over everyone's eyes. No one had seen him, all sneaky and invisible, slip in at the last moment. The illusion he had made was one of his finest, he could admit. Mortals were easy to fool, but a pantheon of gods as well? Nemesis Prime on top of that? Oh, it was a good day to be a Dark God of Chaos.

Booyah.

Just as he opened his mouthplates to announce his undeniable superiority, an indignant squawk escaped him instead. Two pairs of clawed hands came up from behind and arrested his arms as if he were some common street thug. Anubis and Sekhmet gripped him tight and spread him wide. They were small gods compared to the ([temporarily] former) power of the Great Fallen One, but they were still warriors. They still had considerable strength- enough to waylay Psi's spectral aft for the time being.

Horus brought a spear to the Fallen's chest and forced the sharp tip a fraction into the black armour.

Psi frowned down at the weapon threatening to pierce him through. "I take it you have a point to make," said the Fallen. "Get it, _point_? Spear? Wow, no laughs? Really?" He cast his gaze up to the bird-headed _Other _who was on the verge of skewering him. There was not a chirp out of the god. Not a smile. Truthfully, none of the Egyptian gods looked too pleased to see him, which Psi figured was completely unfair. What had he ever done to them? _He_ wasn't the one who dissected the scorpion goddess. _He_ wasn't the one shacking up in one of their temples. _He_ wasn't the one who just kicked all their asses. The only thing Psi had done recently was save a stinky little carbon-based puss-bag's life, and he was seriously starting to regret the decision if this was the kind of thanks he got. Egyptian gods were _so_ unreasonable.

Psi's Earth counterpart, the white-winged Fallen One, looked on with indifference in his blue gaze. Not a twitter, giggle, or snort out of him. Only cold calculation and a cruelty that rivalled Psi's own.

How terribly disappointing.

"Go figure that the first time in _forever_ that I do something nice, I'm going to get skewered for it," Psi sighed, tugging at the clawed hands that held him tight. There was no give in the vice-like grips. He hissed as Horus forced his spear deeper.

"I will part your head from body right here if you speak one more word, you vile thing," Horus spat.

Psi opened his mouthplates to say something- maybe dare the birdbrain to try it, but Lucifer cast him a roll of the eyes.

"Be careful what you say, Fallen," the devil intoned nonchalantly. "Karma is a bitch on this planet."

Psi pursed his mouthplates, yet again of the opinion that the Egyptian gods were entirely unreasonable. His only consolation was that they were speaking to him in Latin, so at least he understood them when they were being rude.

"At least tell me the girl is alive," said Psi.

Isis and Bast brought the limp human body into their embrace. They were goddesses of protection and power, medicine and healing. They knew women and how to help them. Despite being forgotten creatures of a time long past, their touch was still knowing as they inspected the torn skin and crushed bones. Isis bent low and placed her lips of the human's slightly parted mouth, breathing air into lungs that were struggling to move. The chest expanded gently, bones cracking into place, rips in the lung tissue knitting back up. Suddenly, Mikaela coughed violently and turned onto her side to vomit orange foam mixed from her blood and yellow bile.

"She lives," Isis whispered in wonderment as she petted the girl's head while she continued to heave. Her eyes shot to Psi, narrowed this time. She could not decide if it was proper to thank the monster for this unexpected altruism or if she should spit in his face for all the trouble he had already caused.

"Well, that's a relief," Psi huffed. He would have been very upset if all the trouble he went to save the wretch's life had been for nothing.

Mikaela's blood-shot eyes cracked open a fraction, revealing the glazed look of someone taken beyond their pain threshold. No matter the collection of oddities around her, from the flaming Cybertronian to the man with the devil's smile and white wings, she did not see them. A sound like a quiet sob left her. She was in so much pain, blinding her to all else. There was little that could be done to spare her that. Her arms gave out and she crashed back into unconsciousness. Isis cradled her head to her breast while Bast continued to knit together most of the gouges over the girl's body.

"I cannot help but feel curious what your intentions are toward the human, Psi," Anubis wondered solemnly, his claws digging deeper in Psi's arm.

Psi twisted his head around to the jackal-headed god with a blank look. "Well, golly gee, I was planning on taking her out on a first date. Sharing a couple sweet kisses in the moonlight. If all goes well, I'll ask her out on a second date. I don't want to rush things, so we'll see where it goes from there."

"You're disgusting," Anubis said flatly.

"And you have dog breath," Psi replied cheerfully.

Lucifer crossed his arms over his chest and looked over his shoulder, noting that _Others_ were beginning to show up. Ones from different pantheons who could sense Psi's presence and were hoping to get in on the action. Psi might not have blood to shed, as none of them would, but torture did a lot to brighten the days of the crueler beings. If they were granted the opportunity to lynch him, it would be a good day for them. However, such an outcome was not on the devil's agenda today.

"Horus," Lucifer intoned politely, catching the war god's attention. "I do think we might get better answers out of him if you removed the spear."

One feathered brow arched imperiously high. "Psi broke the rules. He touched a human; his existence is forfeit."

"I imagine it is, but could we make an exception in this case being that Psi touched her in order to _save_ her?" Lucifer drawled calmly. "It is very difficult to get answers out of a dead god."

"It is," Psi piped in unhelpfully. "I've tried."

"Didn't I tell you not one word?" Horus said, yet again forcing the sharp point deeper. Psi did not possess blood or energon to bleed, but it still stung like a bitch to have himself slowly skewered.

Isis glanced up, lips turned down in a frown. "Horus, do as he says. Psi _saved_ this girl's life."

The feathers of Horus's head stood on end. "For what purpose? Psi does nothing without an ulterior motive. He saved her life, but for what? Perhaps only to drive her mad, as his nature would dictate."

Psi rolled his optics. "You could always _ask_ me. I'm not against that. We could play charades and you can guess my nefarious designs." He grinned for the gods holding him captive, as if to conspire with them. Even in the face of death, he was hard pressed to find perfectly lucid sanity. He found himself announcing, "I happen to be a very graceful interpretive dancer. I bet you'd like to see me drop it like it's hot."

Sekhmet curled her lips back and snarled, looking like she would enjoy nothing more than to bite Psi's faceplate off.

It took several long seconds, but finally Horus relented enough to withdraw his spear from Psi's chest. It was a godly weapon, so the nick made stayed right where it was. No form Psi shifted into would make the mark disappear- the damn thing would have to heal on its own. Anubis and Sekhmet could not be convinced to release their prisoner. It was as much for the _Others_' reassurance as it was for Psi's safety. If he were to be let loose, there were more then a few gods with enough hatred for the Cybertronians who would not hesitate to take the opportunity to devour the alien god. And of course, Psi's own nature worked against him, setting everyone on edge as he continued to annoy.

"Now," Lucifer intoned, raising one perfect golden brow. "As I have said, Psi, you have some explaining to do."

"I suppose I do," Psi replied with a careless shrug.

"You are aware that you just _saved_ a human girl, right?" asked the devil. "She is not of your own. Not Cybertronian."

"Yes, I might have noticed the lack of metal. I'm not completely stupid, thank you." Psi replied.

"At least you admit you are somewhat stupid," Lucifer said. "Of course, that does not explain _why_ you did what you did."

"I was thinking of what I would do for a Klondike Bar," Psi drawled, only to have his arms twisted a little tighter. No one had a sense of humour anymore. Such a shame.

Sand stirred as the devil shifted his wings in irritation. He made the motion of grasping the hilt of a sword at his side though there was no visible sword there. The gesture was much more a threat than it looked; if he drew, he would bring with him a sword of flame hot enough to burn through everything, including Psi's sense of humour.

"_Fine_, if you must know my nefarious plot- I need the girl," the Fallen grumbled, looking to the side with a pout.

The devil dropped his hands from their ready position. "For what purpose?"

Psi opened his mouthplates eagerly.

"_Don't lie,"_ Anubis growled into his audio.

"Dog breath," Psi sneered. "If you all don't recall, you so pleasantly tasked me with killing Nemesis or else you would kill my Cybertronians."

"We remember," Lucifer said.

Psi inclined his head. "Nemesis has proven that he has the power to do as he pleases and has no intention of playing by our rules. Without Unicron at full power, _my_ power is limited to the chaos I can draw from this world. It is considerable, but not enough. If I am to destroy Nemesis, I need..." He pursed his mouthplates, reluctant to finish the sentence.

"_Help?"_ Lucifer offered smugly.

"If you insist on calling it that," Psi sniffed haughtily.

"And the girl?" Isis pressed, pressing Mikaela's bruised face closer to her breast.

"It was Nemesis's idea to kill the girl to destroy the Allspark's resistance. Saving her will be my token to the Allspark to prove that my dislike of Nemesis is equal to theirs. They have the power to kill him, but will never be able to find him. I know where to find him and how to plan against him, but I need the Allspark's power to kill him," Psi said.

"An exchange, then?" Sekhmet intoned warily, her claws still buried deep in the Fallen's arm.

Psi nodded. "If I can't kill Nemesis on my own, I would sooner use a power that comes from my own world to destroy him."

"The Allspark is human now- not of your world. It's not your power to use," Horus pointed out severely.

"The power is Cybertronian, no matter the shell it's contained in," Psi huffed.

"I wonder how you will use the power if you can't recognize the vessel?" Lucifer wondered coolly. His blue eyes glinted with hellfire. "Sam has been camouflaged from you for years now. You can't even keep the image of him in your head without hurting yourself."

"It's sentient, isn't it? Doesn't matter if I can't pick him out of a lineup, all I have to do is show the whole lot of them that... what's that saying you have here? '_The enemy of my enemy is my friend'?_ If the Allspark can be convinced to help me, then what's to stop him?"

"Indeed, what is?" the devil drawled dryly.

Psi bristled. "If the price to do away with Nemesis Prime is to lower and debase myself by saving a wretched little human, then so be it. I'll do as I must to get what I want. If I deliver the girl to the Allspark's feet, Nemesis is as good as gone."

"They will very likely make you _beg_ for their services," Lucifer pointed out. "After all the miseries you've orchestrated for them, they're not likely to fall for your acts easily. You will be on your knees. You will have to beg like a mortal. Can you lower yourself to such an existence? Tell me, Fallen One, are you desperate enough for that?"

Psi looked as if he had a very bad taste in his mouthplates. "If I have to beg... I will."

"I would like to see that," Anubis chuckled darkly.

Psi said nothing of his desire to see the jackal-headed god skinned, turned inside out, rolled in coconut, and deep fried in animal fat. He would _love_ to see something like that, but he figured saying it out loud wouldn't help the situation.

"I think there are many of us who would like to see such a thing," Lucifer murmured shrewdly, watching Psi through glinting eyes like blue shards of glass. Psi wondered if he was agreeing with Anubis, or had somehow read Psi's own thoughts. Either way... well, _damn_.

"I most certainly would not wish to see an innocent girl in the hands of such a beast, only to be used as a bargaining chip," Isis intoned firmly. "He'd kill her with his own nature. No matter how hard he might try, he will always be Chaos."

"True." Lucifer settled back, tapping his chin lightly as he considered the situation. "What a wonderful cruelty it would be to watch him struggle against his own nature to keep the girl alive. He would _have_ to do that, if he wished to gain a truce with the Allspark. It would be an agony to go against his nature. A hell built just for himself."

"You cannot be considering giving him the girl!" Isis exclaimed.

Lucifer shrugged. "What do we have to lose? If his plan succeeds, we have the joy of watching him struggle before he destroys Nemesis, after which we will run him from the planet. If he fails, we will make good on our deal and slaughter him and every other Cybertronian on the planet. The Allspark still lives for now- we will use Sam to rid ourselves of Nemesis. Either way, we get what we want."

Psi forced his mouthplates to remain closed, even as spiteful words bubbled up and threatened to spill out. No matter how much he despised the situation, he was forced to swallow his pride and bow to it. Who would have guessed that a tiny backwater planet like Earth, host to small, insubstantial _Others_ who were mostly forgotten, would end up causing him so much trouble? It was laughable... if it were not for the direness of his current circumstances. He needed the human girl to live if he had any chance of getting near the Allspark's vessel and convincing him to team up together.

What would Unicron think of him now, his most loyal servant, prepared to metaphorically go on his knees to bargain for help?

This was, quite possibly, the lowest moment of his existence.

"I do not like this at all," Isis said darkly. She placed a kiss to the crown of Mikaela's head.

"You do not have to like it," Lucifer replied lightly. He turned to the gathered _Others_ who had come to watch the proceedings. Their disappointed expressions told of how badly they had wanted to see Psi tortured to death. "All those in favour of watching Psi be reduced to a snivelling, grovelling beggar?"

A majority of hands were raised. There was genuine cruelty in some of the faces of the _Others_. They wished to see the alien god suffer for their own delight.

"A majority vote," Lucifer announced. "Mikaela Banes is now in your hands, Psi. Let us see where your scheming gets you."

"It always gets me somewhere," Psi replied, though he did not know if he was supposed to grin because he got what he wanted, or scowl because what he wanted was so distasteful. He was careful to keep his head hung low so that none could see what expression he chose. A moment came when he felt the hands that held him loosen, allowing him to pull away with a sharp tug. He rubbed his wrists to rid himself of the feeling of being shackled. _Trapped_ was not a condition he dealt with well.

Bast knelt at Isis's shoulder, urging the goddess to set Mikaela down. With one last careful pat to the human's head, Isis backed away. She sent a hot glare in Psi's direction, letting him know that it would be her to take the first chunk out of him should he let Mikaela die.

The sharp tip of a spear tapped his chest threateningly. Psi glanced up the length of the weapon until he met Horus's yellow stare. "We will be watching you, Fallen."

"_Voyeurs,"_ Psi laughed, blowing a kiss to the god before sweeping Mikaela into his grasp and disappearing from sight.

* * *

There seemed to be only two kinds of news that travelled around at speeds that rivalled light. The first kind of news was always going to be the latest rumour of who was sleeping with who. Sex was always the right kind of scandalous to garner interest and ensure the story be passed on and on and on, no matter how outlandish it was. The second kind of news was of a much more sombre kind: _death_.

Mikaela's death was the news on everyone's lips.

By some unnamed summons, those who could go immediately to the Banes property headed straight there. The front lawn soon became crowded with the number of vehicles coming to park in every nook and cranny. Bedraggled humans and other various organic aliens lingered around the cars and on the front step, crowding up the furniture in the living room and telling stories around the kitchen table. It was easy to tell who had been sleeping only moments before the news of death had come to them; they were the ones with wrinkled clothing that didn't quite match, or were still in the ugly pyjamas that the public was never supposed to see.

There wasn't a lot of food in the house to go around, since most of it had been consumed during the party the night before, although it didn't seem to matter. Not a lot of mourners found room for food. Only the women who showed up thought of bringing small plates and trays; that seemed to be the thing to do when someone died. They brought only trays of simple foods because Mikaela's death had come on such short notice. No time to prepare better offerings. In their heads, they were already planning what they would be able to properly make once they were home again.

No one asked what Chase might like brought. She figured she probably would have told them nothing anyways. The thought of food made her want to vomit.

The hours of the night passed by in a daze for her. One moment it was late and in the blink of an eye it was later. Since her cry on the front lawn, she couldn't summon anymore tears to shed. Her eyes hurt, though. They itched and were swollen, but she couldn't force herself to cry anymore. Maybe because there were too many people around and the thought of crying in front of them made her sick and uncomfortable. She could only walk from room to room and stare dully at the faces who looked up at her with crushed expressions, their eyes red and full of pity. Words murmured from them full of condolences, but none of them could bring back the dead so Chase really didn't give a damn what they had to say. Most of the faces she recognized from one place or another. She'd changed oil, tuned up engines, and changed tyres for a lot of the agents and soldiers showing up. Mechanic's stuff. She couldn't call a single one of them a 'friend' but she figured it was nice that they had shown up to offer condolences, even if they didn't do any good.

Maggie had shown up in a whirl of blond hair and wide eyes, her assistant Leo on her heels. Leo had flown to Raoul and wrapped his arms around the man to allow him to cry. Maggie had run to Chase and tried to hug her, tried to express her sympathies, but only tears had come out until Chase had had enough and was forced to hand the woman over to Epps to handle. Sarah came shortly after that, somewhere between midnight and the hours of the morning when time didn't really matter; she appeared with a tray of fruit in one hand and a tray of vegetables in the other. Annabelle had sent to a neighbour's the moment Will had phoned Sarah with what happened, and Sarah had come straight over with food from the 24-hour grocery store in town. She didn't hug Chase when she showed up, but she did say that Mikaela had been one of the most charming and beautiful women she had ever known. She was in God's hands now.

Chase pressed her lips together and said nothing, only managing to nod before Sarah moved on. She didn't know if Mikaela believed in God. They'd never really talked about religion before, unless they were making fun of it. Now Chase regretted never properly asking what Mikaela believed in. In whose hands was Chase supposed to believe Mikaela was in now?

Passing through the dinning room, Chase caught her reflection in the glass of the liquor cabinet. She jumped for a moment when she thought it was Mikaela staring back at her. Turning to face her reflection, she laughed quietly for thinking it could have been her niece. She'd never find Mikaela in the liquor cabinet, but she might find some peace in there. Her kind of peace- which was numbing and burning at the same time. Drink to the memory of your loved ones; drink until you forgot they were gone; drink until even your tears stank of alcohol. There were not enough unwanted hugs in the world to bring her solace, but the cold embrace of an unfeeling bottle could give her more than any human company could.

The latch was easy to flick open, the wooden doors creaking on corroded hinges. She wrapped her fingers around the narrow neck of the nearest bottle, feeling the coolness of the glass be absorbed by her skin. The burning rush of the alcohol wasn't even past her lips yet but it was already making her feel better.

A tanned hand came to rest above her fingers, stilling her withdrawal of her sweet cure for death.

"You sure you want to do that?" Simmons asked lowly, watching her with cautious dark eyes. The downturn of his mouth, the wariness in his eyes- Chase could read what he was saying even if he wasn't saying it out loud. _You're a recovering alcoholic. Start drinking again and you might never be able to swim out from the bottom of that bottle_. There were others in the living room who could see her and their eyes were saying similar things. At least they weren't looking at her with pity.

There were a few who were only watching the bottle, seeing the same sweet burning numbness that Chase did.

"This is how we do it where I come from," Chase murmured hoarsely, trying to smile but only managing to grimace.

Simmons hand was gentle as he eased her arm down, prying the bottle from her fingers. Chase watched as he moved, feeling a hot acid-sting move up her chest and into her throat when she noticed that the bottle she'd reached for had been the absinth Hound had brought back from Sudan. A sick shudder worked its way through her body. How was Hound? He'd been taken prisoner with Mikaela. No one would tell her what happened to him when negotiations broke down. Had he seen Mikaela die? Had he tried to protect her? Save her? Chase could only imagine how much it would have killed him to watch Mikaela die, knowing how much he adored the girl.

"Would Mikaela want you to drink?" Simmons asked when he caught her staring at the bottle with both longing and mourning.

"She wouldn't want it, but she'd let me," Chase replied. And then she said, "She can't stop me now anyways."

Simmons's flinched at the comment, and then his shoulders sagged.

Chase knew that the correct answer should have been that Mikaela wouldn't want her to drink so she wouldn't drink. That's what everyone was _supposed_ to say. Chase didn't always do what she was supposed to. Whatever Mikaela had wanted or not wanted didn't matter any more, did it? She wasn't around anymore to say otherwise. Chase stared at Simmons with flat eyes until he looked away.

"Okay, you can drink, but you do it where we can watch you," said the agent.

Chase nodded, hungry to have the taste of poison on her tongue. He squeezed her hand gently- a kind gesture he had never given her before. They had never been particularly kind to each other in the past. In fact, they had never actually had a conversation before beyond the usual "Hey" "Hello" "Change my oil" "Fuck off, I'm busy" exchange. The warmth of his hand felt nice. Not comforting per se, but it made Chase _want_ comfort.

Without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. A thoughtless kiss. Stiff, sloppy, and a little bit desperate on her part. In the back of her mind, she couldn't quite remember what his first name was supposed to be- she'd always just called him Simmons like everyone else. His name began with an 'R', didn't it? His lips were surprisingly soft, like he applied too much lip balm too often. She pressed a little firmer, searching for something. The shape of his lips was wrong. The taste and smell were wrong, too. Chase suddenly realized that she'd been expecting the taste of metal and the smell of a new car. She had been expecting someone else to kiss her.

Simmons had not moved an inch from the moment her lips touched his. He was _refusing_ to kiss her back. Dark eyes open, he watched her and let her come to her own conclusions.

Shame made her turn her face away, sucking in a warm drag of air that reeked of all the human bodies milling around her house. She could feel wide eyes burning into her back; a shocked silence had settled the moment mourners realized what was going on. Now Chase realized it was not just the thought of food that made her want to vomit. The taste of stale coffee and breath mints in her mouth made her sick too.

"Hey," said the agent, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. It took a moment before she could look him in the eye. There was understanding in his gaze, like he'd been kissed before by women who had been pretending he was someone else. "We both know you're taken."

Chase felt shame well up in her stronger.

"We all do weird things when we're mourning," Simmons said. He looked down at the bottle in his hand. "Let's get some glasses, huh?"

"Yeah," Chase sighed, more like an automatic response than a conscious need to speak.

"And sugar. You drink absinth with sugar," replied Simmons, making commentary for himself because silence was just too awkward.

Chase watched as shot glasses were poured and distributed amongst the mourners. When the shot glasses were gone, normal glasses were used. Even two jam jars were poured into and passed out. She listened as people gagged and sputtered as the bitter liquid sloshed passed their lips. She drank her own without flinching, needing no sugar, loving the burn as it passed through her body. She didn't care that the absinth tasted like sewer water passed out someone's ass. Miles gave her his glass, because he was trying his best to sober up in order to go see Sam. The second shot burned as much as the first one. The strength of the alcohol was made obvious when the floor of the kitchen seemed to tilt a little more than it usually did after only those two small mouthfuls.

Absinth was among one of the stronger alcohols, and the people drinking it were doing it on an empty stomach. It was only a matter of time before they were too tipsy to stop Chase from doing anything. She waited until there were no eyes turned her way before she stumbled across the kitchen and drank a glass of ice cold water. The blast of cold sobered her enough to allow her to go back to the dining room, stealing another bottle of something from the cabinet. She then made her way to the backdoor.

Miles was sitting on the kitchen table when she came back to the kitchen. Will's keys were swinging from his index finger.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked as she reached for the door knob. He didn't say anything about her tipping a little, mostly because he knew he'd be punched in the face if he did.

"Yes," Chase replied. "I'm going somewhere."

"Where?"

"I don't know yet."

"Oh." Miles hopped down from the table and stuck the keys in his pocket, and then ran his fingers through his tangled hair. He was now certain that he was sober enough to drive. "Good luck getting there."

"Yeah. Thanks." She walked out the door and passed through the few lingering bodies in the backyard. She passed the sober Nebulons who couldn't drink alcohol because even a drop could shrivel their insides. Sober Uma who never bothered to drink because they needed massive amounts of alcohol before they felt anything. There were humans who shied from drinking as a lifestyle choice and recovering alcoholics who refused to drink because they knew they'd be too tempted to never stop. She ignored them as she headed for the garage with her bottle of something, which turned out to be vodka given to her in payment for working on a car because Chase had been in the mood for something better than money that day.

The bottle was tucked into the back of her pants to keep it secure, the narrow neck going down first. She almost laughed when she recalled teaching Mikaela the same trick when she was sixteen and driving that ugly Vespa. If you wore a large jacket or baggy shirt over top, no one could tell that you were driving with a bottle of booze in your pants. The motorcycle Chase now sat on had a compartment big enough to fit the bottle, but old habits died hard so the vodka stayed where it was.

The engine was a loud, hot, familiar purr between her legs. The wind burned her eyes as she pushed the bike to go as fast as it could across the uneven ground. Bugs and bits of sand pelted her skin hard enough to leave angry red welts across her russet flesh. True to what she had told Miles, she had no idea where she was going. All she wanted to do was drive as far and as fast as she could until the world blurred together and the desert swallowed her whole. She didn't want to see her house anywhere near her. She didn't want any familiar landscapes.

If she could make herself as lost as she felt inside, all the better.

Her wish was granted the faster and farther she pushed the motorcycle into the vastness of the desert.

The world blurred, but not from tears of sadness. The cold pitch of the wind against her raw face burned. Her eyes were streaming from the wind. She raised one bare arm to rub at her face, trying to ease the sting. Her heart jolted hard in her chest when she felt the front tyre sink into a hidden animal den. The bike dropped low as the tyre disappeared into the ground; the momentum of the bike had the back end jacking into the air in a cartwheel. Chase didn't scream as she was tossed several feet through the air; she felt her body tumble like ragdoll in a storm. Then the ground came up and caught her. Air rushed from her lungs as she landed on her right side and skidded over dirt as coarse as sandpaper.

When the world stopped spinning, Chase levered herself up to look at the wreck of Mikaela's bike. It wasn't the worst off thing she'd ever seen; twisted front tyre and smoke billowing up from the side of it. She thought about how she would apologize for being such a dumbass. Apologize for driving sort-drunk, which she hadn't done in years and years. Would promise to fix it so it was new again... or buy a new one and throw the old one away. Then she was forced to remind herself there was no one to apologize to.

A shuddering breath passed her lips; her heart was hammering like a hummingbird's wing against the inside of her ribcage. Looking down at herself, her right side had not fared so well in the landing. Her thin shirt was ripped to shreds, the thick polyester of her utilitarian bra holding together by strings. Starting at her shoulder where she had landed the hardest, flesh had been stripped away in chunks. The black tattoo band that encircled her bicep was missing chunks. Hanging pieces of skin dangled from her ribcage and bled from her hip into the torn material of her jeans.

The longer she stared down at herself, the more everything _hurt._

But she wanted it that way. She wanted to hurt on the outside as much as she did on the inside.

Her head hurt the most as memories swam up from the deep and played behind her eyes. Afghanistan again. Always in the heat and the sand, with the sound of gunfire still echoing in the air. The deafening explosion of the detonated mine going off, and then the burning wet smack of human viscera being drilled into her front, dripping down her face and staining her uniform.

Reaching behind herself, she pulled out the bottle of vodka from the band of her pants and gurgled a dull laugh when she saw it was the only uninjured part of herself. Gripping it between her knees, she twisted the cap with her left hand and took a long drink until her head swam. Her thoughts went fuzzy, not hurting so much any more. It took a couple minutes, but soon even the ragged gouges in her side stopped stinging. With what was left of the vodka, she poured it over her shoulder and down her side to wash away the dirt. Soon the only things she could smell was blood and alcohol.

"Are you up there, Mickey?" she wondered quietly when the stars caught her eye, begging her to look skyward until she fell backward into the dirt and didn't get up again. Her wounds got dirty all over again. They'd probably all be infected by morning. "If you are up there, you're probably thinking about what a fuck up I am. I bet that's what you're thinking."

Neither the stars nor Mikaela gave her any answer.

"Things should have been different," Chase sighed. Her words were slurred. Whether it was from a concussion or drunkenness... she didn't care. "Guess it's too late to wish things were different, huh? How come I'm always too late to figure things out?" She closed her eyes for a moment. "You must think I'm a fucking idiot. _I_ think I'm a fucking idiot."

Somewhere close, it sounded like someone was laughing. A hyena? No, wait, there were no hyenas in America. Some other animal, then. Did coyotes make laughing noises? Whatever. They had the right idea about laughing at her.

Chase kept her eyes closed and let the animals laugh.

Her eyes didn't open until hours later. It wasn't until they opened again that Chase realized she'd been unconscious. The sky was edging dawn. Her flesh, blood, and bones were stiff with icy cold. Her blood had dried across her body in macabre patterns of gore. Animal tracks circled her; scavengers who had been looking for an easy meal but frightened away by the stench of alcohol coating her. It was not the cold or the soreness or the pounding headache from her concussion that brought Chase to awareness. It was the fact that she was no longer alone that prickled up and down her spine. She stared up at the large ice-blue frame that sat only a few feet away from her.

"You are the most pathetic thing I have ever seen," Mirage said when he realized she was awake. The way he said 'pathetic', he might as well have said _disgusting_.

"Fuck off," Chase grunted, turning her back on him. He was the last living creature in the universe she wanted to see. She hoped she could fall unconscious again until he went away.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" asked the Master Spy.

"I bet that would make you real happy, wouldn't it?" Chase spat, scowling deeply as she hunched over her knees in an attempt to warm up. She could feel dried blood crackling down her sides. Wounds opened up and started to ooze.

"I don't think I'd care that much," was the reply.

"That's a lie." Chase wished she could punch the bastard in the face. "Mikaela's dead so that means there's one to go before you can have Hound all to yourself again. I bet that's what you're thinking, isn't it? You just have to wait until I kill myself and Hound is yours. God, you're such a fucking asshole."

The worst part about it was that Mirage didn't say anything to the contrary.

Chase squeezed her eyes shut and fought the feeling of being sick.

Finally, Mirage said something: "I came out here because no one could find you."

"So you decided to come find me out of the goodness of your spark?" Chase sneered.

"No, I did it because I wanted to make sure you didn't do anything stupid." His gaze travelled to the wrecked bike. "Obviously I was too late."

Chase hugged her knees tighter. "We both know you don't give two shits about me. You don't give two shits that Mikaela is dead. Send my coordinates to someone else and let them come get me. I don't need you lording around that you're so much better. I just want to mourn in peace."

Mirage sighed, looking like he very much wanted to take Chase up on the offer. With all the turmoil going on at base, he was loath to be away from everyone- especially when the alternative was to be in Chase's company. A greater sense of duty kept him rooted to the spot. "I can't leave just yet," he said.

"You wanna rub it in a little more?" Chase said. She licked her arm where blood still ran and spat the mouthful at him. "Go ahead. Tell me you don't give a damn that Mikaela is dead."

Mirage looked away in disgust. "I can't understand what Hound ever saw in you. You're so vile."

"I come by it honestly," Chase replied acidly. "You're just as rotten on the inside. I don't know how Hound could ever put up with _you_."

There was truth in the words, which made the verbal barb hurt more than Mirage expected it would. He knew that he was not a pleasant mech by most standards. Hound's love and friendship were two things he coveted in this world because it was so rare for him to own something so precious. It was not in his nature to share anything with anyone.

He gritted his mouthplates and forced himself to go on with his original mission. He had come out of stasis early thanks to his last-second use of a force field to shield him from Sam's outburst. He meant to use that head-start on everyone to be the first to say something to Chase, no matter how difficult she was making the situation. It took a moment to finally force his mouthplates to work.

"I'm not here to lord over you the superiority of my species or that fact that I don't care about your loss." He cycled air. "I wanted to be the first to come to you because I knew the others were likely to lie to you about the circumstances surrounding Mikaela's death. If it were me, I would want to know what truly happened."

There was wariness in her dark gaze as she stared up at him with narrowed eyes. "What are you talking about?"

He stared down at her with cold optics. "What did Simmons tell you about her death?"

"He told me she didn't feel anything." She sat there for several minutes repeating the phrase over and over in her head. The more she said it, the less real it seemed. How could she have gone painlessly if she were a hostage in the middle of a war? Why would Simmons bother to look so haunted when he'd seen things a thousand times worse. Acid and bile churned up the back of her throat as she came to her own conclusions. "They all fucking lied to me."

Mirage nodded slowly. "I imagine they did."

"Those fucking assholes." She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. "You can show me what really happened, can't you?"

"I can."

Chase closed her eyes tight and took a breath through her nose. She never thought she would ever ask Mirage for anything in this lifetime, but when she opened her eyes and looked at him again, she could hear herself saying, "Show it to me. Show me... how she died."

He was the only one who would show her. No one else would ever be so cruel. There was no one else who would hurt her so intentionally by letting her watch the last moments of her niece's life. Mirage was different; his kindness could be as cruel as his cruelty could be kind.

He acquiesced with a nod, compartments in his shoulders opening up where his holographic projectors were located. He usually used them to make himself invisible, but today he used them to project his most recent memory. First the outline of the memory appeared. In a slow succession, the trappings of colour, detail, and depth appeared until the holographic image resembled a real portal into the past. The only hint that it was only a trick of light and force fields was how it pixelated near the bottom as it touched rocks and scraggly bushes.

Seen from his point of view, Chase could see the window in midair with Mikaela and Hound held hostage on the other side. She watched the memory play out with dread in her heart. The bottom of her stomach dropped out the moment she realized Simmons had truly and wholly lied to her; Mikaela had not died quickly or painlessly. Her screams echoed over the landscape from Mirage's speakers. Hound was then on his knees, his shoulder mount charging. Mikaela begging him to do it. The ignition of the plasma.

Chase looked away before Mikaela disappeared.

Mirage let the holographic image gutter out.

"That..._oh god." _

The Master Spy turned his head away to look out over the jagged landscape.

"I never should have let her go..." She pounded her fist into the blood-smeared dirt next to her. Her heart raced a thousand beats per minute. Her skin felt like it was on fire as rage started to pour into her. "I should have been the one to go get those parts. She never would have gotten involved. She'd still be..."

"Nemesis was intent on solely using Mikaela against Sam," Mirage said. "Even if she had not been away with Hound, Nemesis would have found a way to get her. Nothing you might have done would have made a difference."

"Oh, gee, that makes me feel so much better knowing that nothing I ever could have done would have saved her," Chase spat. "Is that all you came here for? To show me what really happened so I could be angry instead of sad? Because that's what I am now. I'm fucking pissed at Nemesis for getting away with what he did. I'm pissed at Simmons for lying to my face. I pretty much just hate the goddamn world right now." Adrenaline, rage, and a rush of confusion and helplessness made her hands shake and her heart race.

"That's not all I came here for," said the Master Spy, seemingly unfazed by the vitriol now rolling off the woman in waves.

"I can't imagine what else there might be!" Chase snapped.

"Hound," said the bot. "You saw what he did for her, didn't you?"

"He killed her," Chase spat darkly.

"He _loved_ her," Mirage murmured. Now there was intonation in his voice. It was almost wistful. Regretful. Sad. "I know you saw the pain in his optics when he shot her. He was willing to die for her. He was willing to do _anything_ for her. You saw that as clearly as I did. Killing her was the last thing he wanted."

Chase nodded like her head was on a rusty hinge. She saw, but she was too angry to say anything. Too angry at everything to make sense of her thoughts.

"I knew Hound was no longer mine when he was willing to die for her," Mirage sighed. "He hasn't been mine for a very long time, but now I am forced to admit it. He belongs to you and your family."

"So glad the death of my niece could bring about some clarity for you," Chase said darkly. "He belongs to my family just as he manages to kill one third of it. That's great. Really. Awesome family pride."

Mirage looked at her sadly, as if for the first time he felt bad for something he said. "I'm... sorry for your loss."

"No, you're not. You're sorry for your own loss." Chase refused to look at him.

Mirage sighed. "What will you do if we get him back? Will he still be welcomed back into your family?"

Chase tensed. Knowing what she knew now... Even if it wasn't his fault... Even if he'd been forced and Mikaela had begged for it...

"I don't know," she said. "I don't know what will happen."

Mirage nodded solemnly, looking to dawn on the horizon. Even with day coming, everything around them was still so dark.

"Did you send out my coordinates to someone?" Chase asked lowly.

"Yes," Mirage replied.

"Good." Chase scrubbed at her face again, making the already raw skin sting.

Mirage shifted carefully. "Would you like me to stay until someone gets here?" Another cruel kindness of his.

Chase watched him from the corner of her eye, waiting for something more. The Autobot did nothing. Her strength gave out and the heat faded from her eyes. "Fine, stay. I don't care."

* * *

"_This is not dead which can eternal lie,  
And with strange aeons even death may die..." _

A long, low moan filled the gloomy corners of the brig.

Punch paused in his reading, glancing up at his only company. "You're right, Gloom. That is a very interesting couplet." Reading horror always seemed to get the best reactions out of the energy leech, and Lovecraft was especially good for getting vocal responses.

Being down in the dark for several joors, he had no idea of what was happening in the world above him, and the world above him had all but forgotten him while he sat in the dark.

Gloom shifted in the dark corner he sat in, so encased in the shadows that he was barely discernible from his surroundings. Punch was so accustomed to his undead company that he could see Gloom well enough without having to adjust his optics too drastically. He moaned again in one long note that was both mournful and haunting. His hand scraped along the floor until he gathered enough strength to lift it, patting his chest once before letting his hand fall back to the floor.

Punch blinked, canting his head a little. "You think you're like the poem?"

The leech made a sad noise that was much like any of the other sad noises it usually made.

"I s-s-suppose you c-could be like the poem," Punch said, and then immediately stopped himself when he heard Counterpunch's stutter. He was _not_ Counterpunch. After a moment of steeling himself, he spoke again. "You are kind of undead, I suppose. That defeats death, right? And these are very strange times we live in."

As if Gloom understood what was being said, his head bobbed up and down weakly. On his final nod, his head tilted back so far that he was left staring at the ceiling. He did not move from that position. A long, rattling moan came from his. This one was not his usual mournful noise, but one that was far more insistent. And a bit agitated.

Punch shifted in his seat uncomfortably, troubled by the fact that he could not understand what the leech was trying to tell him... if he was trying to tell him anything at all. If Ratchet and Perceptor were to be believed, than Gloom was nothing but a mindless experiment gone wrong and was now trapped between the living and the dead. Punch didn't want to believe that. If he thought that way, it made it seem like Nightbeat's sacrifice was for nothing. Nightbeat had been too good a bot to waste away like that. Sure, Nightbeat had been crazier than most, but it had been part of his charm. He had had the most amazing talent for seeing the most obscure patterns and figuring out the most convoluted riddles.

If Nightbeat were alive instead of being undead, he would have been able to take one look at the leech in the cage and _know_ that it was trying to say something important.

He always _knew_ things like someone were whispering it in his audio.

Punch frowned, watching as Gloom continued to stare at the ceiling with the oddest amount of determination one might see on a creature who, for lack of a better definition, was a zombie.

Nightbeat would have immediately been able to figure out the mystery. He would have taken one look and know that Gloom was trying to say that there were others out there to whom death had died for them. They were beyond death now. Gloom was connected to forces beyond the living and the dead and was aware that somewhere on the planet, Nemesis Prime's forces were rising. Nightbeat also would have known that there were others who had defeated death. Had somehow tricked death. He would have been able to figure it all out with a single look at Gloom.

Sadly, Punch was not half so clever as Nightbeat was. The mysteries of the universe were as barred from him as life was barred from Gloom. Punch would never have the talents Nightbeat had. Punch didn't even have the talents as a warrior he once had. He was not even half the mech he used to be.

_Half the mech. _

He laughed bitterly.

Yep, he wasn't even half a mech anymore. Just a wasted away shell that read stupid Earth stories and stank of bitter cyanide. Useless. So disgustingly, frustratingly, horrifyingly useless.

"I'm sorry I don't understand what you're trying to say to me," Punch sighed.

Gloom sighed too, still staring upward.

Punch stared downward, seeing his stained hands. His once bright orange-yellow paint now stained in blacks and blues and purples like bruises. Visible proof of his broken, useless state. His hands clenched around the data pad he held, and then he set it aside with a definitive click. It was a loud enough noise for Gloom to finally look to his one living companion.

"You know what? I'm tired of being half a mech," he said, coming to his feet. "I'm tired of being useless. I might not be able to understand you, Gloom, but there are others things I can do. I can't sit back any more and watch everyone else struggle while I sit here like a coward. Counterpunch is the coward, not me."

He. Was. _Not._ Counterpunch.

Soon enough, if all went well, he would never be Counterpunch again.

He would be a whole mech.

Gloom watched Punch's march for the lift until the Autobot was out of sight. Even in the absence of company, the leech did not become agitated as he normally did. There was no point anymore. He sat in the dark and sighed. If Nightbeat had been alive, he would have understood that that leech was now waiting. It was only a matter of time until everyone knew what he was trying to say.

* * *

Of all the days Psi had lived on Earth, this was by far his least favourite.

First there had been that tricky business of swooping in and being a hero. Understandably, as a creature of Chaos and a spreader of evilness, Psi was not one for heroics. He _laughed_ at heroes. In fact, he very much enjoyed tearing heroes down and making them realize how truly small they were in the universe. One good deed was a meaningless drop in a bucket when there were a thousand more evil deeds to undo it. Never in all the eons he had served Unicron did he ever think _he_ would ever be a hero.

The very thought made him want to purge, even if he couldn't really purge. It was the thought that counted, right?

His only consolation was that Mikaela was now his. All it had cost him was some energy to put up a force field and bend reality for a very convincing illusion; child's play for him. And then he paid for it in abject humiliation in the faces of some very pissy Earth gods. Given that the human woman was very important to his plans, the effort was _almost_ worth it.

If he had any hope of getting anywhere near the Allspark to convince it he was on their side, he needed something really big as a gesture of peace. What better gesture than essentially bringing a loved one back to life? Well _technically _just saving her life, but if he spun the story the right way he could make it sound like he brought her back to life, which would probably earn him bonus points with the good guys. Bonus points were good.

What had made his day even worse was the dreaded business with the Earth gods. It was bad enough that he knew he had to demote himself to a snivelling beggar in hopes of scoring some points with the people he had spent eons tormenting, but now everyone else knew about it too. And they were _happy_ about it. They wanted to see him grovel like a dog in the dirt. The very thought of them watching and laughing while Psi was forced to do the last thing he ever wanted to do (aside from watch the _Twilight_ movies, which was the absolute last thing he ever wanted to do because even he had to admit they were horrible movies), burned his aft.

He desperately wished that Unicron were at full power so that he would have access to his own full power as well. The Earth gods never would have stood a chance. He would spend days, maybe even _years_, simply tormenting them before he ground them out in the most painful ways possible. There were dead gods in the universe whose screams still echoed amongst the stars long after Psi was through with them. But the _Others_ on Earth, faded and forgotten gods on a backwater planet mostly ignored by the rest of the universe, laughed at him and treated him like an annoyance rather than a beast to be feared.

An orn would come when he would show them his true power. When that orn came, No One would be laughing!

Unfortunately, what made his day worst of all was the fact that Psi was not well equipped to handle human baggage. He was not a deity accustomed to dealing with organic material. Especially the living kind that was shaped like a human. Flesh and blood was a little more difficult to travel with than doing so with metal and energon. He might have been a creature of Chaos, but so many variables existed with trying to keep a damned little human alive that it completely threw him off.

If he moved too fast, her molecules started to scramble. A jump from one place to another would result in Mikaela being reconstituted as something that might not have even resembled a human. As interesting as that might have been for Psi, he imagined it wouldn't go over well with the people he was trying to suck up to.

Moving through anti-space was a no-no, because there was no air in anti-space. There was _nothing_ in anti-space. It made for quick and stealthy movement, but not when one was trying to keep a human alive. Particularly one who was so precariously balanced between life and death as it was. She kept coming in and out of consciousness, taking one look at whatever form Psi held at that moment, and passing out again. He imagined that suffocating her, while again _very_ entertaining, would not be in his best interest.

So he was forced to move at a slow pace, popping in and out of places randomly in order to make sure Mikaela kept breathing her precious 'air'. One moment he was in the Congo, the next he was in Benegal, then he was in Spain, Germany, France, Britain, Iceland, Canada... and with one last jump he finally made it to America. He rematerialized in a rush with Mikaela's body cradled in the embrace of his mantle. She was still thankfully breathing.

Psi eagerly took stock of his surroundings, only to realize that he was not in the place that he needed to be.

He was not on a base in the middle of a desert surrounded by Cybertronians.

He was in the middle of a street with the stink of car exhaust and garbage rising up around him. Grey concrete buildings rose up like cage walls to scrape the sky. The blare of a horn caught his attention. Craning around, the last thing Psi saw was the glare of headlights and a Detroit licence plate reading SUMDAC1.


	28. To Gamble

Wow, how time flies! It's been forever since I've updated this story! Sorry about the couple months of delay... My attention was elsewhere, on life and on other stories. My attention is still on life- trying to get through my goddamn last year of my undergraduate degree!- but if there ever comes thirty minutes of free time to ever work on my FFN writing, know that that's what I'm doing. It's all the love and support I've received from reviewers out there that encourage me to keep going even when I really should be working on other things. XD

Hopefully this chapter will make up for the months-long hiatus. ^_^

My deepest thanks to the crazy-awesome reviewers of the last chapter: **Flameshield, renegadewriter8, femme4jack, Kellie Witwicky, CNightJoy, animelover1993, Sprikolas, TransformersLover95, Poisoninja, Midnight Marquis, Marie Vulffe, Supernova, ice around the moon, King of Pain, Frenzy5150, FunkyFish1991, Violet, EmberLady, Sayomi178, luinrina, aniay, infinityinmirrors, FORD B, Supermoi, StarscreamII**, and **Isaneus maximus**. You are all too kind, and I think you deeply for your wonderful reviews!

Enjoy the chapter!

**May We Never Let Go  
To Gamble**

Mikaela's journey back to consciousness was a reluctant one.

After suffering unimaginable traumas at the hand of Nemesis Prime, her mind was not exactly willing to return to the world of the living. Her mind was content to exist in the liminal realm between deep sleep and waking, a place where Mikaela was exempt from dreams and safe from nightmares. A place where she felt no pain and had no need for fear. But the world cannot be denied forever, and eventually Mikaela's mind had to cede her body from the painless void back into the nightmare called life.

The first thing to happen was that she became _aware_ for the first time in days. Not fully aware, but marginally so in the fashion many disorientated people feel after waking up after a horrible accident, or a traumatic explosion, or nearly being incinerated by their adoptive father while he was being controlled by an evil alien bastard. Those people, Mikaela included, recognize that they are physical beings in the world, capable of accepting that they are aware of themselves, but lacking the capacity to absorb all the other essentials, like _where_, _when_, _what_, _who_, and _how_.

Mikaela realized her name was Mikaela Banes after several moments of drawing a blank. She lived in a state called Nevada, which was in the United Sates of America. She was a mechanic and worked in a shop called Hot Autobodies, which she co-owned with her aunt. She was supposed to be in a place filled with sand, wasn't she? She... was supposed to be dead. Was that wrong? Her mind was still jumbled.

She wasn't sure if she was dreaming or not. Indeed, as a deeper sense of awareness flooded into her fogged brain, she had the vague sense that she was trapped in a deluded dream, complete with inappropriate background music. It was all very weird. Her body hurt, reminding her that she _did_ have a body, complete with two arms, two legs, and a her fingers and toes. She felt a distant twinge of pain, kept at bay by the morphine she was currently unaware of dripping into her body by the IV in her arm.

She laid awake on her stiff bed for a long while. Her eyelids felt fused together and she didn't fight to open them. Not strong enough for that, and besides, she wasn't sure she was ready to see the world yet. What if she didn't like what she saw? She still could not come to the decision if she was truly awake or suffering from some incredibly strange dream. The drug haze that cluttered her brain did not clear. Her mind did not sharpen. Her ears seemed to be the only things that were working properly. They picked up on the music playing and her brain, as muddled as it was, suddenly recognized the song from the _Bring __It__ On_ soundtrack. Toni Basil's _Mickey_.

"_Oh Mickey, you're so fine,  
You're so fine you blow my mind!  
Hey Mickey!  
Hey Mickey!" _

The song, in itself, was not entirely strange except for the fact that Mikaela had not heard it in over a decade and could not fathom why it was playing now. It made her smile, though. _Bring __It __On_ had been a good movie, albeit incredibly corny and full of awful cliches. As a young girl, she had secretly pretended that the Mickey song was about her, like a theme song that played in the background of her life every time she did something awesome. But why the hell was it playing now? Where was the music coming from? Hell, a better question that suddenly entered her mind was _where __in __the __world__ was__ she?_

The harder she tried to think, the louder the Mickey song seemed to pound inside her skull.

It felt as if someone had filled her skull with cotton and her brain had been replaced with a giant marshmallow. Her blood was as thick as chocolate sauce. The last solid memory she had was of Hound, and even that was hazy around the edges. Oh god, _Hound_. The way he had looked at her, the expression on his faceplate in those last few moments. He looked like he was in so much agony. He was beaten and oozing energon in places. He would have changed places with her in a sparkbeat. And then he shot her with his shoulder mount. The light of it had blinded her. She felt the burn against her skin as it approached.

And then everything had gone blacker than black...and had strangely smelled like a musty attic.

That meant she was supposed to be dead, right?

Her eyes finally cracked open a slits. Her eyeballs felt dry and scratchy. Her vision was nearly too blurry to understand what she was seeing. For several seconds, she stared around until she decided that the room she currently laid in looked suspiciously a hospital. This was collaborated by the fact that the bed she laid on was the uncomfortable sort that existed in hospitals, with the thin cotton sheets typical of hospital sheets. Nearest to her were instruments that appeared appropriate to a hospital; the basic heart monitor and blood pressure machines, and all the little things that hung from the walls that Mikaela had never learned the names of. The smells that assaulted her nose were also the sterile stink of hospitals, but lingering in the astringent scents was also the smell of musky dirt and stale rot that set her nerves on edge.

Through her blurry vision, Mikaela thought the shadows of the room looked too dark. They were moving in time the music.

"_You think you've got the right  
But I think you've got it wrong  
Why can't you say goodnight  
So you can take me home, Mickey!" _

And then she heard the sound of a toilet flushing, followed by a door swinging open at the end of the small room and Darth Vader with amber coloured eye-pieces in his mask walked in with a length of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of his boot.

Mikaela promptly passed out again.

The next time Mikaela came back to consciousness, she was struck by her sudden desire to be back in high school and try out for the cheerleading team. It was an intensely odd desire, because she hated the cheerleading team. Always had and always will. They had called her a slut when she was considered cool, and then when she went out of fashion in her last year of high school they had broke into her locker and filled it with _used_ condoms. Sam and Miles had stayed after school with her to help clean the mess out, but the smell had stayed for months.

Mikaela was quick to realize that her cheerleading desires were not her own, but inspired by the Mickey song, which was still playing. Had it been playing the whole time she'd been out? How long had she been out? Only a few seconds? It felt longer than that. Minutes, maybe? Or perhaps hours... Nevertheless the song continued to play its uninterrupted tune.

"_Oh, Mickey, what a pity  
You don't understand  
You take me by the heart  
When you take me by the hand!" _

The shadows were still too dark in the room when she opened her eyes. They continued to shift and wiggle in time to the music, even though the twilight gloom of the room cast very little light for the shadows to be able to be so active. The stink of staleness was stronger now, burning her nose and coating her tongue. Her vision had cleared to the point where was able to confirm the fact that she was, indeed, in a hospital room. There was an IV in her arm. Whatever painkillers the doctors must have given her were starting to wear off, because Mikaela became increasingly aware of the aches and pains in her body. The soles of her feet, her poor ribs, her blistered back, and pounding head. She recalled how badly she had been beaten and wondered why she didn't feel worse than she did. Those painkillers must have been some high quality shit if she didn't feel like she was dying.

She regained enough of her senses to realize that she was not alone in the room.

Someone sat in the chair next to her bed. It was not human. There was a part of her that _knew_ it would not be human even before she turned her head. The sense of _knowing_ the presence was inhuman crawled over her skin, prickling against her flesh. Hot and cold at the same time. Making her breath stutter and her heart race. The sixth sense she had developed to identify when a Cybertronian was hiding in plain sight, something that most humans seemed to develop after extended contact with the robotic aliens, started to tingle like an overactive Spidey Sense. Something that was both Cybertronian and not Cybertronian was lurking near her.

Out of an undeniable need to know who and what her company was, even if she came to regret the decision, she turned her head and paid the price for the movement. Searing pain shot up her neck. Her vision wavered as her brain protested the movement.

This time, it was not Darth Vader. It was a robotic creature, though not unlike the alien creatures that Mikaela had once seen in a movie... _E.T?_ No. _Avatar?_ Definitely not. ..._Aliens_? Yeah, that sounded right. The movie with the large, black aliens that popped out of people's stomachs and took over space stations and had that mouth-within-a-mouth deal that was freaky as hell. And Mikaela happened to be right next to one. A robotic one. This one was blacker than black, hinged with metal to which shadows seemed to stick. It was sitting quietly in the chair with its legs crossed at the knees. In its hands was the most recent copy of a _Vogue_ magazine. It was humming cheerfully along with the music, the tip of its foot bouncing along with the rhythm.

As if sensing her regard, the nightmarish vision dropped the magazine and turned its bulbous head toward her.

"_Salve!__" _it said merrily in Latin, smiling broadly- both the big mouth on the outside and the little mouth on the inside. _Salve_ meant 'hello', though Mikaela was not to know that. She did not know anything about Latin. For all she knew, the monster could have just said, _"__What __a __tasty__ looking__ human __you__ are! __I __think __I'm__ going __to __eat __you __as __slowly __and __painfully __as __possible!__"_

Mikaela turned on her side and vomited onto the floor before passing out again.

Upon her third attempt to come back to the world of the living- or what she _assumed_ was the living, because it was much better than the other option- Mikaela was not alone yet again, but this time she was relieved to find that her company was human. The light was dim in the room, but she could make out the shape of a small Latina woman in nurse's scrubs with weathered skin the colour of light toffee and hair as black as a raven's wing drawn tightly into a bun. She was checking Mikaela's vitals, standing close enough so that Mikaela could make out her expression in the dimmed light. It was grimly set, as if determined not to betray the obvious nervousness that was shining in her eyes. Deep grooves of concentration lined the skin around her mouth and eyes. The name on her name tag read _Alejandra._

Mikaela decided the woman would be pretty if she smiled.

There came a conspicuous rattle in the room, which caused the nurse to glance over her shoulder quickly. She saw nothing that could have made the noise, which did not necessarily rule out the possibility that something was in the room with her. Every doctor and nurse who had come in to check on their Jane Doe- Mikaela Banes, as it were, though she had not been conscious enough to tell them that- they were all made aware that there was _something_ in the room. A creature that was lurking unseen, but causing trouble nonetheless. The heat of his stare prickled up and down the nurse's back. She returned her attention to Mikaela with her lips pressed so tight together that they turned white. She failed to notice that Mikaela's eyes were open and watching her.

Above the sound of the music, which was _still_ playing for some ungodly reason, pattering footsteps like that of skittering rats filled every dark space. A childlike giggle followed. Giggle. Giggle. Giggle. Mikaela's nurse did not make the mistake of looking over her shoulder a second time. She did happen to get incredibly tenser, so much so that her grip on Mikaela's arm as she checked the IV nearly hurt. Mikaela could see the hair standing up on the woman's arms.

The antics that followed were like they had been ripped from every classic ghost and poltergeist movie ever filmed. There was a single window in the room, the glass on it closed. Nevertheless, the curtains moved as if caught in a breeze. Temperatures dropped to the point where every breath turned to white wisps of smoke. Items on the walls creaked. A steady tread of heavy-booted footsteps clomped across the room. The stink of stale rot turned stronger and stronger, the source of it seemingly growing closer.

Alejandra dared to look up again, only to come to regret her decision. Mikaela regretted her poor decision to keep her eyes open. Both women bore witness to the terrifying realization that the shadows in the room were no longer laying flat on the floors and walls. They were rising up, twisting and churning in time to the ridiculous music that was still playing in the background. Black claws and grasping hands reached for the nurse.

Amidst the darkness, a pair of amber optics watched with laughing amusement.

The nurse screamed, her hand flying to the cross she wore around her throat. She flew from the room faster than she had ever run in her life. The door snapped open before she even touched it, and slammed shut behind her so hard that it managed to slap the human in the ass. The assault was so hard that it sent her sprawling into the opposite wall before she resumed her desperate scramble down the hall for the small chapel built into the hospital on the second floor.

In the nurse's wake, the shadows pulled themselves into the shape of a... something. Mikaela could not decide what it was supposed to be, other than the basis of every nightmare she would have for the rest of her life. The stare of those amber eyes was haunting. She could not take her eyes from the impossible creature as it snapped its too many fingers attached to not enough hands, summoning the music to blast at ear-splitting levels.

"_OH MICKEY, YOU'RE SO FINE! YOU'RE SO FINE YOU BLOW MY MIND-!" _

It then proceeded to leave the room via its own incredibly bizarre interpretive dance.

Obviously, whatever the creature was, it knew how to drop it like its hot.

This time, Mikaela did not pass out. She laid awake in her hospital bed for hours, staring directly at the dark ceiling and refusing to look anywhere else. Her vision blurred as hysterical tears fell, but she did not dare make a noise. If she made a noise, the creature might come back. She kept her hysteria internalized until the point when her monitored heart rate shot beyond what was healthy. Alerts went off at the nurse's station down the hall. Nurses came into the room, all of them wary in case whatever was haunting the room attacked them. They approached the bed with grim determination where Mikaela laid.

Mikaela finally let out the scream that had been boiling up in her for too long. She screamed and thrashed and kicked and cried, tearing her stitches, bursting blisters, and scraping her healing skin raw. She screamed, and screamed, and screamed, but it never seemed enough to rid herself of her hysterical terror. Strong hands came down from every direction to hold her down.

Her IV had yet to be thrown from her arm. The quicksilver of a needle flashed, inserted into the drip. Moments later, fire entered Mikaela's blood. Her veins burned like someone stuck a red-hot poker into her. In her madness, she did not recognize the tranquilizer now oozing into her body. She continued to scream and thrash until her muscles went numb, her heart slowed, her mind turned dark, and screaming no longer fell from her lips.

Soon after that, she didn't remember anything at all.

* * *

Elita sat at the top of the ramp to the _Loki_ and watched Ratchet prowl amongst the bots who had yet to come back online.

"How do they look, Ratchet?" she asked softly.

Ratchet sighed, turning so that he faced the acting-Prime. She looked both lovely and sad while silhouetted in the hatchway of the Loki. "They're fine for a bunch of comatose patients," he said. "They'd look better if they were online, though."

"I suppose they would," Elita said wistfully.

The few who had been farthest from Sam's outburst had received the weakest blow, relatively speaking; they were the first to come back online. Alternately, those who had been quick like Mirage to erect a force field had spared themselves several days of unconsciousness. Prowl was among the few who were now online again, as were Cliffjumper, Firestar, Red Alert, and Inferno.

Interestingly, Prowl had not objected to being relegated to third in command while Jazz played second to Elita One. When normally it was his habit to analyze the power hierarchy and critique it where he thought necessary, he accepted this change easily with only a bow of his head before enquiring what his orders were. The last time their fortunes had been reversed, Jazz had been selected to go after the Allspark instead of Prowl; Prowl recalled with shame that he had not been gracious of the matter. At the time, he had not known an eternity would pass before they saw each other again, and Jazz would be _dead_ when Prowl next laid optics on him. Although Jazz had been resurrected from death, a fact that the saboteur still loathed to discuss, the scar of guilt and shame still weighed heavily on Prowl. He was determined to be a better bot.

Elita One was simply relieved that one of her most analytical and efficient warriors was willing to accept the temporary demotion with quiet grace.

The two Neutrals from Carnéval were also back online, surprisingly helpful for a pair of misfit ex-Decepticons. They served under Soundwave's effective command, though their physical services were often deferred to Elita One. Currently, Drift and Nightbird were in the med bay with Virus, doing whatever the medic needed in order to look after their fellow Neutrals. Soundwave worked diligently in the command centre alongside Jazz, hunting down all Cybertronian operatives on the planet and ordering them to Nevada. Smartly, Jazz did most of the communicating, since it wasn't likely any Autobot on the planet was going to take kindly to having _Soundwave_ order them around.

Among the bots who had been closest to the epicentre of the blast, Optimus Prime, Ironhide, and Chromia remained unconscious. Three of their strongest and most needed warriors.

Ratchet supposed it would be a few more orns before they came online.

To be kind, the medic had dragged Optimus's unconscious frame close enough to the ramp so that Elita could reach out and touch him without having to move too deeply into the cargo bay. As much as she put up a strong front as the acting-Prime, some fears were hard to escape. Most instances of going into the command centre resulted in needing Jazz to lend an arm to help walk her out. Sitting on the ramp of the _Loki _was as deep into the cargo as she wished to go. Her fingers curved around Optimus's hand and held him tight. She wanted to see the glow of his optics and a kind smile on his mouthplates. The first she could have at any moment, but the second...

Smiles were becoming rare as of late.

She felt Sideswipe's half-spark signature before he jogged into the cargo bay through the door at the far end of the room. For the last few days, he had taken to staying on his ship as much as possible to keep an optic on all the Autobots laying on the floor. If anyone needed help, he wanted to be there to lend a hand. The only times he left were to escort Elita One to certain places if there was no one else to take her, or if she ordered him to do something that required him to leave the shelter of the _Loki_.

Sideswipe caught sight of Elita One and immediately made his way over to her.

"Here," he said, holding out a small cube of light blue energon. "You have to keep your energy up."

Elita smiled and took the offering gratefully. "Thank you."

The red warrior smiled, looking pleased to have done something useful. Like many bots who were online now, Sideswipe was left feeling useless as the eye of the storm settled around them. There was no one to fight. Nothing to rage against. Not yet, anyways. They all had to sit quietly and get their forces together before they could do anything significant. That sense of inaction was slowly driving the red Lamborghini crazy.

"Where's my cube?" Ratchet asked grumpily, arching an optic ridge expectantly.

"I knew I was forgetting something!" Sideswipe exclaimed playfully.

"Of course," the medic sighed, returning to his inspection of Wheeljack, who kept flickering in and out of consciousness like he couldn't decide which one was the better option.

Sideswipe carefully stepped over the arranged forms of unconscious bots and withdrew a second cube from subspace. "No, seriously, I wouldn't forget. You patched up Sunny, so you get a present," said the red mech, pushing a cube into Ratchet's hands.

"Why didn't I get presents every other time I patched up Sunny?" replied the medic, swilling the contents of his cube thoughtfully.

"Because we didn't like you back then, and you didn't like us," Sideswipe said in a painfully honest tone.

"True," said Ratchet. In need of a little fortification, he proceeded to suck back a healthy portion of the energon.

Sideswipe grinned like the little devil he was. "Since you've been working so hard, Ratch', I even put a little extra kick in there to keep you going. Hope you like Synth-En!"

Energon sprayed in every direction from Ratchet's mouthplates.

"_Why you little pit-spawn-!" _

"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!" Sideswipe laughed, dancing away from the fuming medic. "I know better than to put illicit substances into your drink!"

"You better hope I don't find anything illicit in this," Ratchet warned darkly, with such black thunder lacing his tone Sideswipe knew the orn he laced the medic's drink with Synth-En would be the orn he woke up with his aft welded to the ceiling. No, seriously. Ratchet would find a way to do it, and then laugh. At the moment, the medic watched Sideswipe warily as he drank cautiously from his cube.

Elita sipped from her cube sedately, knowing she was safe from any of Sideswipe's pranks. "How long do you think it will be before someone else comes online?" She flickered her gaze over the bots who were left. "Sunstreaker, perhaps. He was standing farther from the blast than the others, wasn't he?"

"He was, but it's hard to say when he might come online," Ratchet grunted, setting aside his cube. "Sam was very upset. He unleashed a lot of power in his outburst."

Sideswipe fell back onto his aft and got comfortable, using Ironhide's unconscious frame like an armrest. "I feel like Sunny could snap out of it any time," he said, prompting Ratchet and Elita One to regard him with interest. The red Lambo shrugged haplessly. "It's not for sure or anything, but, you know... twin thing."

"I wouldn't mind having Sunstreaker at my disposal at the moment," Elita commented, and then quickly amended with, "Not that I don't appreciate everything you have done so far, Sideswipe. You have been invaluable. It is simply-."

"Yeah, I get it," Sideswipe assured her. "Me an' Sunny have always been two for the price of one. It'd be better is if he was online."

Ratchet grunted. "It would have been even better if Sam somehow managed to contain himself so we didn't have this problem."

"Ratchet," Elita One said reproachfully, her mouthplates pursed in a frown.

The medic shook his head. "I know it's unfair of me to say that, considering the circumstances. I truly am sorry for his loss. It is simply that he took out nearly the entire Cybertronian population on base in under a breem. This is not a time we can afford to have our forces in such a weakened state. It will still be days before planet-side Autobots converge on this place. We're vulnerable now."

Elita's shoulders sagged, acknowledging that, yes, Sam had put them in an extremely unfortunate place from his outburst.

Sideswipe revved lightly. "It was only a matter of time before the kid cracked," he intoned. "Jazz mentioned the other day that Sparky's been bottling things up. All it would have taken is one little thing to make him lose it."

"Having his exclusive murdered in front of him is not 'one little thing'," Elita One pointed out gravely.

"No, it's not," Sideswipe said while cringing. "But... it explains why he couldn't keep the power inside, doesn't it? We all know something's wrong with him. Something's been wrong for a long time. If he's been keeping all inside, wouldn't make sense that he'd just _explode_ at some point?"

Ratchet grunted.

"I can't imagine how he's going to feel when he comes online again," Elita sighed. "Reginald tells me that the rest of the humans are waiting for Sam to wake up before they hold a memorial service for Mikaela."

"Ah," said Ratchet. "Let me know if they decide on an actual date to arrange it." He would be in attendance in honour of the human woman; Mikaela was among the few humans on Earth he tolerated with special affection. He moved from Wheeljack to Chromia, propping her up and connecting with her systems to see if he could prod her awake somehow. While he worked, he asked, "Has Simmons told you of Chase's status?"

Elita carefully fielded the question for a moment by taking a lingering sip of energon. When she set the cube back down, she said, "She is taking Mikaela's death hard." That was as much as she wanted to say about the subject. Reginald had come to her recently sporting a black eye, a split lip, and a sour explanation that Mirage had gotten a hold of Chase. Whatever had been said between them had turned most of Chase's mourning to violent rage. There was nothing anyone could do for her now; she would not see any human company, and alien company- particularly Cybertronian company, was out of the question.

"Has Bumblebee said anything about Sam?" Sideswipe enquired.

"Tungsten keeps me updated regularly," Elita replied. "There is no change in the boy. He remains in stasis and Bumblebee remains by his side."

"That's cool, I guess," said the red warrior. "Well, not cool, not really, but- um, I guess that's as good as we can get right now."

Elita nodded absently, taking up Optimus Prime's hand again and setting it in her lap so that she could gently stoke his long fingers. Through their bond, she felt him as a steady presence, though inactive. There was no pain, yet there was little peace.

"You know, Elita," said Sideswipe, because he really didn't like how quiet it was. "You're doing a good job as Prime."

That made the femme smile. "It's only been a few days, Sideswipe."

"It's been a good few days," the Lamborghini insisted.

"I'm glad you think so," Elita replied.

"Sideswipe is right," Ratchet intoned, needing to weigh in his opinion. "You've stepped up nicely in our moment of need. No one could have asked for better."

"I'm doing my best," Elita assured. "I've mostly been assigning duties and ordering others to come to base. That is not exactly what I would call an inspiring performance."

"You're inspiring by being yourself," Sideswipe said, and then realized how corny that sounded and immediately looked elsewhere.

Elita laughed, thinking Sideswipe was adorable.

Ratchet rolled his optics, mostly thinking Sideswipe was a bit of an idiot. "Elita, you must understand that we all love you. You are the Prime's mate, and with that comes a certain amount of respect, but it is not just that. You are also a very inspiring bot on your own. To see you stand so proudly now is exactly the kind of boost the rest of us need."

"Yeah, what he said," Sideswipe added.

"I am only doing what needs to be done." She settled back and sipped her energon quietly.

Sideswipe and Ratchet watched her for a moment before glancing at each other discreetly. When it became clear that the femme had sunk into that place in her mind where she sometimes went, when her gaze drew distant and the melancholy about her steeped deeper, they allowed her that privacy. It was not their place to pressure her, at least not about keeping up with meaningless conversation. So the two Autobots turned their conversation to other topics that would not bother Elita One while she thought. They talked about all the Autobots who were heading their way at that very moment. Bots travelling by both land and air. The total number of them on the planet did not rise past a bare one hundred, but even that number was better than nothing.

They likened it to Optimus Prime's call for every Autobot to come to Earth, except this time around the distance was much shorter to travel.

Elita let their voices become distant in the background, closing her optics and taking a slow drag of air. Her vents were filled with scents both familiar and alien. The Loki's peculiar smell of old metal, dirt, and a lingering sweet stench of an energon distillery that would have once existed in the cargo bay. The smell of the desert just outside the hatchway. She was peaceful for all but a few seconds before her optics flew open and her frame bolted upright as if electrified. The sudden action startled both Ratchet and Sideswipe, who looked on while Elita jumped to her feet and ran down the ramp.

Sideswipe, quicker and closer to the hatch, got there before Ratchet and shouted after the femme, "Where are you going?"

"I have to get to the command centre!" she yelled in reply as she collapsed into her alt mode and sped away.

Absolutely bewildered, Sideswipe and Ratchet could only stare at each other as if the other one might spontaneously come up with the answer.

What they were not able to hear was the sound of stars screaming inside Elita One's head.

* * *

Technically speaking, Hot Rod was _not_ recharging on the job.

Nope.

He wasn't.

Because that would be considered _irresponsible._

What he was currently doing could better be described as giving his cognitive processes a break. A long one. With his optics closed. While he was more or less completely oblivious to the world around him. It was completely different from recharging the same way high-grade was different from energon. Sure, they were related, but that didn't mean they were the same thing.

Hot Rod was a _responsible_ sort of Autobot who took even the most boring jobs seriously, even monitor duty in the dead of night when nothing ever happened. He would never shirk his duties in such a blatant manner. Maybe when he was a younger, more impetuous bot, but not now. He'd learned his lesson. Yes, he did. Seriously.

If anyone asked why his optics were shuttered and his mouthplates were gaping so wide that dust had begun to settle inside, he would be able to say that he was testing them. Yeah, testing them. You know, like a_ test_. To be able to see if regular Autobots were able to tell the difference between a bot taking a break and a bot who was recharging. Those bots who could not tell the difference obviously failed the test, because Hot Rod was _not_ recharging on the job.

The console that was currently propping up his feet while he was _not_ recharging had been bleeping for the last ten breems. Hot Rod did not hear the alert, but not because he was recharging. No, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for it that he had yet to come up with. He continued to not recharge as blissfully as he had been for the majority of his graveyard shift. Blurr was the only other bot who was supposed to be on duty with him in the command center. The middle of the night never garnered that many bots to look after slag. _Blurr_, who had not been present on the bridge for the last fifteen breems for the very legitimate reason of fetching himself some of energon to keep himself from falling into recharge like Hod Rod _so __totally__ didn't__ do._

And because Hot Rod was _not_ recharging on the job, it did not come as a complete surprise when Blurr came back into the bridge and realized the long-range sensors had picked up several Decepticon signatures. Hot Rod was not at all shocked when Blurr immediately began to freak out.

"Hot Rod! Hot Rod! Are you fraggin' recharging? The long-range sensors are going off!"

Hot Rod saw Blurr barrelling toward him from galaxies away, even with his optics closed. The only reason he did not react was because he didn't want to show off his god-like reflexes. It was out of the generosity of his spark that he allowed himself to be violently ejected from his seat and unceremoniously thrown to the floor. After he crashed on his head and made a very convincing act of sputtering to consciousness, he then proceeded to complete his act by swearing loudly and demanding to know what the pit Blurr thought he was doing.

Blurr shot the other mech a wild look. "Decepticons, you half-bit!" he shrieked, throwing his hands up. "They've nearly crossed the threshold of long-range sensors into close-range! It's a whole convoy of them!"

And because Hot Rod had _not_ been recharging on the job, he so totally was _not_ shocked into utter speechlessness that the moment everyone had been dreading had finally come... but he was doing a very good impression of it.

* * *

"Well," Thundercracker intoned from his spot at the helm. "So far so good, right? No one's charging weapons at us."

"They're not hailing us either," Skywarp pointed out from another station. "That can't be good."

Starscream leaned back in his seat, scrutinizing the view screen before him. The Autobot-Neutral station in the Beta Zen region was still lurking on the edges of their long range sensors, and so was still a little too far off to be seen clearly yet. It was a speck of uneven light amongst the steady pinpoints of white starlight in the black backdrop of the universe.

"Any suggestions, Starscream?" Thundercracker asked, spinning around to regard his brother-leader.

"Slow to impulse thrusters," he announced. "We don't want to come on too quickly."

"Got it," said the blue Seeker, returning to his console to input the new instructions. Moments later, the _Birds__ of__ Paradise_ groaned as its engined eased off. Around them, the other ships of their flock followed suit, slowing to the appropriate speed.

"Anything else?" Thundercracker wondered.

Starscream revved quietly. "Contact the other ships. Tell them to fall back. We only need one ship to contact the Autobots with."

This time, the blue Seeker hesitated. "But-."

"It has to be done."

Thundercracker sent a worried look in Skywarp's direction, who was manning the communications hub. The other Seeker shrugged, unwilling to defy an order. He contacted the other ships and told them to fall back. The five other ships that completed their convoy, the _Zazu_,_ Phoenix_, _Raptor_, _Skyhawk_, and _Terror Bird_, all fell back to a proper distance.

Starscream said nothing for several breems. It was clear that he was thinking deeply about the matter, his smouldering red gaze never straying from that tiny dot of light nearly indiscernible from the stars. He had been thinking about this moment for orns now; how it should be orchestrated, what they should say, what might happen if it came to conflict. They could not afford to fail. There was too much at stake.

Skywarp glanced around at the other Neo-Decepticons working tensely at their stations. None of them appeared confident over how this meeting might play out. None of them wanted to die at the enigmatic whims of a bot who most of them had spent eons despising. The Seeker then turned to Starscream.

"I feel like we should be charging weapons, you know?" he said. "At the very least, we should put up our shields just in case they shoot first."

Starscream shook his head. "We have to appear as non-threatening as possible."

"That really isn't our style," Skywarp pointed out.

"It is now," Starscream replied. "We have to gain access to their Space Bridge."

Skywarp settled back in his seat and grumbled. It was not that he questioned Starscream's ability to lead them. He simply did not like the prospect of getting shot at. Or dying. Starscream was the one who could survive death; the rest of them were not so lucky.

Starscream eased up from his seat, feeling every set of optics on the bridge burning into him. He was charged with the welfare of every Neo-Decepticon in the flock. Their lives were in his hands, and he was taking an immense gamble by approaching the Autobots in such a fashion, especially since their last meeting had resulted in his spark being skewered by the not-so-helpful Wreckers. The still-healing holes in his front and back still stung if he thought too closely about the matter. The weight of command settled on him like an ill-fitted mantle, leaving him uncomfortable but determined. So many lives depended on him now. Not just that of his Neo-Decepticons, but all the living sparks in the universe. He knew there was a monster lurking in the blackness of space, and if it was not destroyed soon, everyone would be devoured.

The only sound on the bridge for a long time was the muted noise of space debris thumping and scraping off the hull of the _Birds__ of __Paradise_. Beta Zen was an unusual area of space, for it was empty and uninhabited. There was a single star that blazed huge and red in the distance, but no planets, no moons. No sentient living creatures called this place home; the Cybertronians who existed here now could only call Beta Zen a temporary residence. Comic currents pushed mountains of discarded wreckage castoff from alien words into the Beta Zen region. Eons worth of garbage floating around aimlessly. Merchants from other galaxies actively dumped their waste here. But all was not desolate waste in the garbage-filled region; amongst the garbage was a precious treasure. One shining dot of hope that was like a polished diamond in a heap of coal. The worm hole that led to Earth.

The worm hole that the Autobots controlled.

Details became more apparent on the view screen the closer the _Birds __of__ Paradise_ crept to the Autobot station. Long-range sensors switched to close-range. The station itself came into focus slowly, shaping itself into a haphazard construction of dozens of different space vessels amassed together as a poorly put together puzzle. Had sound been added to the image, a sad symphony of creaking and moaning would have accompanied the tired swaying of the mismatched station. Neutral ships dotted the refuse-filled space around the station , floating like flakes of rust around a rotting corpse.

"I have energy signatures," one of the Neo-Decepticons on the bridge announced. "They're charging weapons."

"Damn it," Thundercracker cursed.

"They're still not hailing us," Skywarp intoned, his voice turning tight with tension. "Time's running out, Screamer."

Starscream clenched his fists. "We will hail them first if they are not going to extend the courtesy."

"You better be sure you know what you're doing. I don't feel like dying in a firefight today," Skywarp said darkly. Nonetheless, his fingers flew across the controls of his console in a bid to gain audience with the Autobots who were gearing up to kill them.

"I know what I'm doing," said the immortal Seeker, even if it was a bit of a lie. He glanced back at the hunched bot in the corner of the bridge, the only bot present whose outward emotions reflected mournful misery instead of anxiousness. Dead End stared back at him with optics full of dispassion and despondency. The Stunticon's unwavering gloom was a good sign; in meant no one was going to die.

At least, that's what Starscream was gambling on.


	29. To Keep Secrets II

This chapter is brought to you by Snow Storms, which effectively trap me at home and make me not want to work on super-shitty school work... or do anything else. Yay for Mother Nature throwing tantrums!

I know I mentioned that Hound was going to be in this chapter. That goal did not quite work out. Life in general does not always work out. I'm sorry- I tried, but the focus of the chapter was firmly elsewhere. For those of you who are concerned for Hound's well-being, I can say that he is suffering horribly and Nemesis Prime is enjoying every moment of it. Next chapter will hopefully feature his horrible fate.

I must say, though, I am enjoying myself immensely with Starscream and the Neo-Decepticons. Taking Screamer's old powers of bitching and whining and scheming and using them for GOOD instead of EVIL. There's something kind of sexy about someone who has always wanted power, and then suddenly giving him what he's always wanted and he realizes that he's a part of something a lot bigger than himself. This Starscream, who's smart and strong but has also learned a few lessons, been humbled by several events, and now driven by internal conflict, questions about the universe, and a surprisingly noble (and ridiculously cliche) mission to save the universe (because who hasn't wanted to save the universe before?)... I might want to fan-girl him on the leg or something. Maybe.

Thanks so much to the awesome reviewers of the last chapter! I realize that a lot of my old reviewers disappeared after the long hiatus, and yeah, that totally hurts like an acid-tipped spear through the heart, but its moments like these that allow a writer to step back and really appreciate the really cool readers who do stick around. Plus, the awesome new readers who astound you by reading through the WHOLE series and are still interested in what you got. You know, reviewers like **CNightJoy, Flameshield, renegadewriter8, Alangrieal, infinityinmirrors, Midnight Marquis, FORD B, femme4jack, Slackfan, TransformersLover95, StarscreamII**, and **Bahamut PURE**. You women (and men, possibly, if you're out there...) are the most fantastic bunch of people. No joke. I can hardly express how grateful I am to each and every one of you, new reviewers and old. Thank you so much for your kindness and continued enthusiasm~!

**May We Never Let Go  
To Keep Secrets II  
**

The command centre was not the hub of activity it normally was, which was to be expected when they had a good chunk of their forces laying around like gigantic comatose paper weights. The three bots who currently populated the command centre sedately worked on their own projects. The EDC agents who walked to and fro on the balconies which ringed the upper side of the walls were completely ignored. Humans in general were ignored on a regular basis, but in this particular instance, in this specific situation, with the amount of tension laying so thick in the air, the humans were ignored more thoroughly than they normally were.

Jazz kicked his heels up on the the ledge of the console he was manning, crossed his arms behind his head, and sighed. He looked convincingly relaxed. Nonchalant even, as if he had absolutely no cares in the world. In truth, he stressed out to the max and suffering the frustrating itch of uselessness. There were very few bots around who had the optic for detail to recognize the act he was putting on.

"Hey, Prowl," Jazz called out, tilting his head back to look at the addressed bot behind him. "Ya doing anything later tonight?"

Prowl peered up from his work. He readily saw Jazz's tension, but there was nothing for him to do about it in their current situation. He answered the saboteur's question with a simple answer: "I am working."

"Good," Jazz said.

To this, Prowl canted his head. "Good?"

Soundwave, the third bot to round out the trio, glanced up briefly from his work hacking into global positioning systems to track down rogue Cybertronians across the planet. He eyed Jazz with a narrowed look, and then quickly decided it was not worth his time to pay attention to whatever the saboteur had to say. He determinedly returned to his work.

"Yeah," Jazz laughed. "If you're working, it means you'll be taking a break around midnight."

"And that matters how?"

"Because, you'll be going for a drive with meh then," said Jazz as if it were obvious.

"I'll schedule you in," said the tactician as he returned to his work.

"Right." Jazz wondered if Prowl's compliance was because he wanted to go for a peaceful drive, or if he was submitting to the fact that he was now a rank lower than Jazz. The saboteur did not have long to wonder. Soundwave interrupted his thoughts with a timely distraction.

"Another one," the ex-Decepticon announced monotonously, having discovered yet another rogue who was refusing to respond to Elita One's summons.

"Send it over," Jazz said, poised at his console to begin the task of "negotiations". Not every Autobot who came to Earth wanted to return to a state of war after having a taste of semi-peace. Some Autobots were claiming Neutral status now and setting up their own lives and modest businesses around the globe. So far, Jazz had been forced to haggle with five of the deserters, each of whom begged him to understand that they just wanted to get on with their lives.

Jazz had no pity for them.

If they wanted to get on with their lives, fine. Everyone was allowed to have that choice. _But_ if they did not help fight one last Primus-damned time, none of them were going to have lives to get on with. To help them in the decision-making process, Jazz fell back into a few of his more... eclectic talents. He hacked into the rogues' Earth banking accounts and stripped them of all their money. That usually got bots' attention. If that was not enough, he would start contacting the government of whichever country the rogue Autobot was in and begin demanding they extradite the rogue. If asking politely was not enough, Jazz had no qualms about contacting the local human police with supposed accusations which played on the humans' prejudices toward the Cybertronian species.

The saboteur was capable of doing a lot worse, and if the AWOL Autobots did not report in within two to three days, Jazz was more than happy to show them how miserable he could make their lives.

Prowl did not exactly approve of such actions. The reason he stayed in the command centre at all times while Jazz was orchestrating the negotiations was to make sure the saboteur did not cross an unforgivable line. Despite the fact that Jazz had been an Autobot for so long, among one of the finest warriors they had, there were still moments when his past life still shone through. Particularly when he was stressed and wanted to get things done. Now that Prowl was, technically speaking, a rank below Jazz, he had no authority to correct any of the saboteur's more questionable antics. As his lover, Prowl was comfortable telling him to stop being a glitch.

In the meantime, Prowl contented himself with Elita One's original orders, which were to secure transportation for the Cybertronians who were too far away, or otherwise on different continents, who could not drive to Nevada. Prowl dutifully scanned through every airline in the world to find which planes were going where, what planes were big enough to carry which Autobots, when they would be leaving and/or arriving, and how much it would cost to fly. Aside from the five, now six, stray Cybertronians on the planet who were reluctant to return, there was still the matter of Autobots working on different EDC bases who needed to be flown in. Because many of the bases had been destroyed by Nemesis Prime, commercial flights were their only option.

"Who is it this time?" Jazz wondered.

"Outback," Soundwave said flatly. "Found him in Australia. He's in one of the National Parks."

"If he thinks he's getting off easy 'cause he's in the middle of nowhere, he's got another thing coming," Jazz snorted just as the screen in front of him crackled to life and a squinting minibot with a plain brown paint job came into focus.

_"I, um, can explain..."_ Outback intoned nervously, eyeing Jazz warily.

Jazz could hear the nervousness in his tone. He smirked, but it was the kind of gesture that made some bots go cold inside. He was short of patience and not inclined to be nice anymore.

"Go ahead," said the saboteur. "Make mah day."

Outback withered anxiously.

Prowl looked up briefly, rolling his optics. "Don't hurt him," he said.

A cold laugh was the tactician's only reply.

Negotiations got underway with Jazz immediately going in for the kill. As he talked, he drained Outback's meagre accounts, none of which had more than a couple hundred dollars in each. The money immediately went into the Autobots' collective account. And then began the process of contacting the Australian government to appeal for an eviction notice, effective immediately. The little minibot was aware of the actions, but helpless to defend himself. Jazz could still be incredibly ruthless when he wanted to be, and hellishly mean when inclined to be.

Prowl was the first to acknowledge that a new spark signature was rapidly approaching. One moment, he was dealing with Soundwave's symbiotes, who were all still trapped in the town of Moose Wash and trying to find a flight that would get them across the continent, and the next moment he was rising from his seat so quickly that the chair fell backwards. The noise of the clatter drew Soundwave's attention, who turned away from his work to regard Prowl, only to realize what had drawn the tactician's attention. Jazz was fully aware of the approaching Cybertronian, but he did not dare break his verbal sparring with Outback lest the little glitch do something stupid, like take off running.

Elita One came blazing in through the doors like a force of nature. One hand was to the side of her head as if someone were screaming in her audio. Her vents heaved for air. Her optics looked wild. She was shivering, though it was hard to tell if it was from fear of being in an inclosed space or if it was from whatever surge of energy that was currently driving her.

"_I,__ um,__ ah...__"_ Whatever Outback had been in the middle of saying, he stopped immediately.

Elita One zeroed in on the active screen and fixed the AWOL Autobot with a look that made the minibot bolt straight.

"_You,__"_ she said with the kind of unwavering authority that had Cybertronians everywhere freezing in their tracks. She did not need anyone to tell her what had been going on in the room before she entered; it was like she already knew. "You will report here to base immediately under the authority of the acting-Prime. Do I make myself clear?"

_"Yes, ma'am,"_ Outback squeaked.

"Then don't waste time," she replied severely.

Outback trilled a few short sentiments that no one quite caught. He fumbled for the controls on his end of the channel. The screen went blank and no one in the command centre had any doubt that Outback was currently making arrangements to put his eco-tour business on hold indefinitely while he prepared to heed Elita One's summons.

"Elita One," Prowl intoned with bewilderment. "We were not expecting you. Is there something you need?" He began to ease forward, hands outstretched as if to catch the femme. She seemed to be teetering on some precipice that only she could see.

Elita's head whipped around so fast it appeared to be on a swivel. Her wild gaze trapped Prowl to the spot. She needn't say anything for the tactician to halt his advance.

Jazz felt the tension rolling off the femme like energy from a lightning storm. The kind of energy that was hard to ignore as it impinged on all the senses. He eased away from the console he was standing at, propping his hip against the ledge and crossing his arms over his chest. He opened his mouthplates to thank the femme for making his job a whole lot easier, only to be beaten to the punch.

"Jazz," she said, head whipping around to regard him.

"Ya need something?" he wondered carefully, his tone measured.

Her hand curled into a fist at the side of her head, gripping the crest of her audio dial. "Are you still capable of hacking into high-security Cybertronian systems?"

Jazz canted his head. The sound of Soundwave's large frame shifting in its seat came to Jazz's attention. In truth, Soundwave was the better mech for anything that had to do with hacking, but the tone in Elita's voice suggested that it wouldn't be wise to question her.

"Ah wouldn't say mah skills have gone rusty," the saboteur moderated.

"Good," Elita said. "I need you to hack into something for me." She shut her optics tight and shook her head. In this interim, Prowl forgot about his silent order to remain in place. He crossed the space in several long strides and placed his hands upon the femme's hunched shoulders. She gasped, jerking away from him. He did not have time to disguise his shock to be rejected so vehemently.

Jazz revved. "Any place in particular ya want meh ta get in ta, or is it dealer's choice?"

Determination crystallized in Elita One's wild gaze, her frame tensing.

"Beta Zen," she commanded. "I need you to hack into Beta Zen, by any means necessary."

"Huh," Jazz said, though it was more like a puff of air coming out his vents; it was the closest thing to 'surprise' he was going to allow himself while handling someone who was on the mental brink of something. It was not every orn that someone was giving out orders to hack into a base of the same faction. Admittedly, when Jazz had been a less reputable figure, he had done that kind of hacking for fun, but that point aside... He figured the least he could do was ask _why _he was being used to infiltrate their own people.

The look Elita One sent him could have seared the paint straight off his frame.

"If you don't take control of the station now, they're going to fire on the Decepticons! We can't let that happen!"

* * *

"Stop looking at me like that!" Hot Rod exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air when he could no longer take the dark sidelong glare Springer had been fixing him with for the last several breems.

Springer turned to face him properly, though his expression did not change. "I wouldn't be looking at you like this if you hadn't been recharging when you_ should_ have been watching the monitors."

Hot Rod puffed up indignantly. "I wasn't recharging!"

"Then what the pit would you call it?" the Wrecker barked.

"I- uh." He floundered for several moments, only made worse when the several other bots in the command centre fixed him with equally sharp glances. Under the collective pressure of bots much older, and arguably more responsible, than himself, Hot Rod was forced to concede to the inevitable. "Fine, okay, maybe I was recharging. But I woke up, didn't I? Caught the Decepticons, didn't I? No harm done, right?"

"_No __harm?_ You honestly cannot be that much of a glitch!" Springer exclaimed. "You're lucky Blurr came back when he did and found the Decepticons entering the region! You're lucky he woke you up when you should have been doing your job! You're lucky we're not dead because of your irresponsibility!"

Hot Rod's expression turned stricken as he was slapped in the faceplate with the truth of what his mistake might have cost them all. He looked to his left and right for any form of support, but the bots who caught his optic immediately looked the other way. There were many times in the past when they would have been happy to come to his defense, Springer included, but he had finally stepped too far and had done something that risked too many lives. Even Kup, who had been by Hot Rod's side since the moment the younger mech had fumbled his way into the Autobots, pursed his mouthplates into a thin line and forced himself to look away when Hot Rod sought his defense now.

Hot Rod sucked in a sharp drag of air and squared his shoulders, meeting Springer's furious gaze. "But-!"

"_No_ _buts_!" Springer bellowed. "We've all been patient with you, Hot Rod. We've given you more chances then you deserve, we gave you help when you needed it, and we've overlooked the slag you do because we thought you would change! Look at what that's got us! Look at the mess we're in because of you!" One of his dark hands flew out to the view screen, gesturing sharply. "We've got the 'Cons on our doorstep and no clue what they want!"

Hot Rod still blustered in self-righteousness. "At least I charged the weapons before they got too close-!"

"_Enough!__"_ Ultra Magnus shouted, successfully silencing every bot in the vicinity

Springer snarled and whipped away from Hot Rod. "I can't be in here. I'm going with the rest of my team to look after the weapons on the auxiliary ships. If this turns into a firefight, I'd rather have someone who knows what they're doing defending us."

Hot Rod cringed as the intended verbal barb hit him squarely in the spark.

As Springer left the room, pounding footsteps echoed up the hall announcing Jetfire's approach before the large mech fell into the command centre.

"Have we engaged them yet?" he asked, one hand braced against the wall as he tried to gather his wits.

"Not yet," Kup said tensely. "They're six warships strong, and we're getting readings of multiple spark signatures coming through on sensors. They've got at least two hundred bots, maybe more."

Jetfire bolted straight, jerking deeper into the room. "So Starscream _has_ been gathering forces, then."

"It looks that way, doesn't it?" growled the older mech.

The Seeker gazed for several long moments at the approaching warship and the five distant shapes behind it. He then shot a glance to the bot operating the communications hub, which happened to be Blurr. The speedster was poised over the console, but not enacting any of the usual gestures a bot might when faced with a possible oncoming threat. Jetfire looked back and forth between Ultra Magnus and Kup.

"Why haven't we hailed them yet?" he asked.

Kup shot a loaded glance in Hot Rod's direction. "They caught us off guard. We've still been trying to get ourselves organized."

Hot Rod made a quiet noise and spun away from his mentor, focusing on the weapons console he sat at.

Jetfire revved deeply. "We better hail them quick. They might take our silence the wrong way-."

"We've got an incoming hail!" Blurr shouted, cutting Jetfire off. "Looks like Starscream got tired of waiting for us to make the first move."

"At least he's not firing on us first," Kup grouched.

Ultra Magnus braced his weight heavily against the back of the chair he was standing behind, which happened to be at the communications console. Blurr peered back at him anxiously.

"What do you want to do, Magnus?"

"Open a channel," said the commander. "We'll see what they want."

"Got'cha," said Blurr, his fingers flying over the controls. "Opening a- _hey, __what __the__ pit?__"_ The lighted controls of the communications console suddenly flickered. Energy fluctuations were not uncommon on the station, and normally no one would make a fuss about a couple of lights flickering. What was cause for alarm was the fact that the controls simultaneously locked Blurr out.

"I've got someone in our systems!" the speedster shouted. "I need someone over here quick!"

Jetfire crossed the room the three grand strides, tossing Blurr from his seat and instantly situating himself at the console. Readouts were all over the place. "He's right. We've got ourselves a hacker." His fingers were a blur as he tried to counteract whatever their slick-fingered attacker was trying to do.

"Is it the Seekers?" Kup demanded.

"Can't tell. The origin signal is being distorted somehow," Jetfire grunted. "Whoever it is, the bot has mean skills. He's using our communications as a base to hack in, but he's jumping systems like a pro."

"Starscream has those kinds of skills, doesn't he?" Ultra Magnus asked darkly.

"He does, but not to this level- at least not what I recall of his skills. I haven't seen him since he left on the Allspark missions. It's possible he's gotten better," Jetfire confirmed distractedly, most of his attention invested into combating their hacker on their virtual battlefield. He revved deeply, optics darting across the readouts streaming in. He couldn't keep up with it.

"So this _is_ an attack!" Hot Rod crowed, jolting him his seat.

"Hot Rod, get away from the weapons controls!" Ultra Magnus boomed.

"We're under attack!" the younger bot yelled back, gesturing wildly to the screen. "We gotta shoot first before they take control of everything!"

"_Stand__ down!__"_ Ultra Magnus bellowed. "Kup, grab Hot Rod!"

The old mech was bounding across the bridge before the sentence was even finished.

"Wait-!" Jetfire exclaimed. "Frag! It looks like the hacker is going for a full-systems lockout."

Across the room, another console flickered, and then another. One bot was ejected from his seat when an electrical surge overpowered his station and sent him sprawling to the floor.

"Damn it!" Kup barked, slamming his fists against the wall. "Can you stop him?"

"I'm trying!" Jetfire exclaimed.

Multiple active screens suddenly turned to static while others screamed with error alerts; reports throughout the station started coming in amidst a deluge of panic. Bots were losing systems all over the station.

"We have to do something before we're completely locked out!" Hot Rod yelled. Despite orders to stand down, he took what little control he had left over weapons and began targeting the warship that now floated squarely in their crosshairs. He was going to blow Starscream and his cronies from space, even if it was the last thing he did.

The hacker had other plans. Before Hot Rod had time to react, a major energy surge came through his console. An arch of white electricity surged up his hands, through his arms, and throwing him from his feet with such force that he hit the wall behind him. In wake of the attack, the command center went dark except for the flaring of red emergency lights. Silence settled like a heavy blanket. No one moved, except for the cycling of air.

"We're sitting targets now!" Kup fumed, breaking the silence.

Blurr rushed over to Hot Rod to help him from the floor. The tips of Hot Rod's fingers were smoking.

Just as quickly as the lights had gone out, their systems started to reinitialize. The first thing to come back on was the view screen, though it no longer showed the image of the Decepticon warship. In fact, the image on the screen was of one bot in particular who was familiar to all who saw him despite how long it had been since they had last met. Silver armour came into focus, accompanied by a sharp blue visor.

"_There __is __nothing__ wrong__ with__ your__ station's __systems.__ Do __not __attempt __to__ adjust __your __view __screen,__"_ Jazz announced, offering a smirk that was both handsome and terrifying. _"__Ah'm__ controlling__ your__ transmissions __now.__" _

The horror of the saboteur's statement was subsequently reduced by Prowl's flat voice announcing from an unseen place in the background- _"__You __stole __that __from__ The __Outer __Limits.__" _

Jazz turned to the side and gestured rudely. _"__Oh, __come__ on,__ Prowl!__ Ya __just__ ruined __mah __dramatic __entrance!__" _

* * *

When the Autobot station went dark, none of the Neo-Decepticons knew what to make of it. There had been several moments when their sensors picked up an extremely odd series of energy disruptions throughout the station, peaking at the moment every light on the conglomeration flashed off. There wasn't even an energy signature of the weapons. It was as if someone had pressed the master button for a full-system's shut down.

Skywarp rocked back and forth in his chair, scrutinizing the scene before him with pursed mouthplates and a narrowed look. "Maybe they're not home?"

"Sure, they all just teleported out at the last astrosecond," Thundercracker intoned with a roll of his optics.

"Could be a trick then," said Skywarp.

"A trick sounds more like it," Thundercracker said. "We should probably charge weapons just in case."

Starscream clasped his hands behind his back and observed the dark station. "I don't think this is a trick."

"What makes you say that?" Thundercracker asked.

"It's just a feeling," Starscream admitted.

"That does not make anyone else feel any better about this," replied the other Seeker. "Trick or not, we don't have any shields up, no weapons charged, and the moment we tried to hail them their entire station went dark. I don't like it. We should at least take steps to protect ourselves."

"Be patient, please," Starscream implored calmly. "Even if this is a trick, I don't want to be the first one to shoot. We're better than that."

"Sometimes I wish we weren't," Thundercracker sighed.

Skywarp watched his brother's progress as Starscream approached the view screen and traced the dark image of the Autobot station floating in the centre of it.

"Maybe..." Skywarp intoned unsurely. "Maybe they're having technical difficulties?"

"That's almost as silly as them not being home," Thundercracker pointed out.

"It's just a guess," Skywarp replied with a shrug. "Guesses don't have to be right, they just have to be guesses."

Thundercracker rolled his optics and said no more on the matter.

There was a brief flicker of light in the distance, and then more followed. Sensors on the_ Birds of Paradise_ began to pick up significant energy signatures from the Autobot station.

"They're powering back up," Starscream announced.

"Huh, I guess they _were_ having having technical difficulties," Skywarp observed in disbelief. He spun around in his seat and pointed at Thundercracker triumphantly. "Told you so."

"Don't make me break that finger," Thundercracker warned.

Skywarp immediately stopped pointing.

They all watched in wary curiosity as the station regained all external lights. Their sensors tracked the reinitialization of the weapons. It took several breems for everything to be back in working order.

Starscream glanced back at Dead End, but the mech had yet to move from his sulking corner. He looked more bored now than he did before. Starscream decided to continue to invest in the Stunticon's brooding as a good sign.

"Should I hail them again?" Skywarp wondered.

"Hail them," Starscream ordered.

Before Skywarp laid his claws to the controls, it bleated with an incoming call. The Seeker squealed in surprise, jumping in his seat. He had not been expecting anything to happen. Several Neo-Decepticons laughed at him. Thundercracker did not outright laugh, though he did turn his head to the side and discreetly cleared his vents with a suppressed smile. Skywarp was quick to recover, revving in embarrassment.

"Answer it," Starscream prompted.

Moments later, the view screen switched from an external view to a channel view. The bot hailing them was not a bot any of them were expecting. Starscream's optic ridge arched so high that it nearly flew off his faceplate. He had a clear memory of the last time he had been on Earth, and he knew who had died on the battlefield during the fight for the Allspark.

"Aren't you supposed to be dead, resting in _pieces_?"

Jazz sat back with a scowl, able to recognize whose voice he was being addressed by. No one else had a voice quite as annoying as Starscream's. "_Funny,__ Ah'd __ask __the __same __thing __of __you. __Ah __heard __the _Darksyde _got __a__ hold __of __ya.__" _

Starscream tipped his olfactory sensor in the air haughtily. "Antivirus. You?"

"_Allspark__ shard.__"_ The saboteur pointed to himself. _"__New __and __improved. __Can __ya __say __the __same?__"_

"Something like that." Starscream smirked; immortality topped anything Jazz was likely to have.

There came a small noise from the back of the bridge, prompting Starscream to glance back at Dead End. The mech had moved, though not by much. He stared directly at Jazz in a way that he did not often look at bots. He did not look happy or sad to see the Autobot, but there was a disquieting glint in his gaze that Starscream did not like.

"I can't say I'm enjoying this witty exchange, so do you mind telling me what's the reason for this? I was under the impression you were on Earth...and still dead," Starscream intoned, returning his attention to Jazz.

_"Ah am on Earth, and definitely not dead- ya fragger,"_ Jazz snorted. "_Just got through with the Autobots and was given orders ta contact ya. Ah'm piggy-backing mah transmission through the station's communications hub."_

"Thinking of becoming a Decepticon again?" Starscream sneered. "You've made your choice. We're not taking you back."

_"Ah'm on the better side anyways. Ah'd rather have my paint sandblasted off than join ya."_ He smirked. _"You're welcome, by the way. Totally stopped the station from shooting ya down."_

Starscream narrowed his optics. "I'm not about to say thank you."

_"Ya don't have ta. Ah'll always know ya owe meh," _Jazz taunted.

The mere idea rankled the Seeker. He did well to hide his distaste. "You mentioned something about orders, Autobot. Who in their right mind would order you to take over your own faction's station?"

_"Someone who, for reasons Ah have yet ta figure out, didn't want ta have ya as dead as ya deserve ta be,"_ Jazz replied.

_"Jazz, may I please step in now? You've had your fun,"_ someone intoned from an unseen place in the background. A femme voice, by the sound of it. It was... familiar. Sort of. Starscream could not recall where he might have heard of it before.

Jazz pursed his mouthplates, seeming reluctant.

_"Jazz, please,"_ said the voice. There was a quality to it that gave Starscream the impression of someone who was not as steady as they would like to be.

Jazz finally stepped out of the way, allowing for a femme to take his place. Starscream surveyed the newcomer, noting how absolutely familiar she looked. He also did not miss how... disturbed she appeared. Her gaze kept darting to the sides as if she expected the walls to start closing in on her. It appeared to take some effort on her part to release the death grip she had on one of her audio crests. She cycled air and straightened to her full height, chin up and chest out in an impressively proud manner for someone who still looked so perturbed.

It was then that Starscream gathered a vague inkling of who the femme might be. He knew many femmes who were proud and volatile creatures, but he knew of only a few who carried themselves with such graceful dignity.

"Elita One," he said softly.

The femme's tight expression softened for a moment, allowing brief surprise to leak through. _"You remember me?"_

"You are hard to forget," Starscream replied, though even he was surprised that he had recalled the femme's identity so easily. Granted that he was trained with a better visual recognition program than most Cybertronians, it had been eons since he had last seen or thought of Elita One. Though they had crossed each other's paths during scurmishes on Cybertron, his most vivid memories of her were deeper in the past when he had served in Iacon as a scientist and she as a powerful political figure. Compared to the war-ravaged frames he was accustomed to seeing, Elita was a paragon of untouched beauty in a frame that looked like it was from before the war.

A few muted intakes of air behind Starscream announced that it was not only he who appreciated Elita One's astounding beauty.

Elita stared back at him for a moment, her pleasant expression melting away as she failed to recall who he was. Many of her memories were still very damaged from her imprisonment under Shockwave. There were bots she still did not recall at all, and others whose identities were mixed up in the mess of her memories files. She did not have as good of visual recognition skills as she once might have had.

_"I'm sorry, but I-."_

"Starscream," said the Seeker, gesturing to himself politely.

_"Starscream,"_ said the femme, looking relieved. _"Good. I was hoping to contact you."_ She eyed the glyphs painted all over his frame. Hesitantly, she asked, _"Have you always looked like that?"_

"No, these are new," replied Starscream, touching one glyph on his chest. He dropped his hand back to his side. "Excuse me for asking this, but..." He glanced back at his crew, then back at Elita One, "where is Optimus Prime?"

A sad look ghosted over the femme's faceplate. A large hand reached out to laid across her back in comfort, but she jumped and stepped away. Her chin went back up, doing her best to look strong. _"He is in disposed at the moment. I have taken his place as Prime for the time being."_

Taken aback, Starscream was quiet for a moment. He posed his next question carefully. "As acting-Prime, you must have a very good reason for contacting me like this."

_"Yes, of course,"_ Elita One assured.

"How did you know we were here?"

_"That is my own secret,"_ she replied enigmatically. _"However, like Jazz mentioned, you should be grateful for the intervention, regardless of the circumstances behind it. We just saved you the trouble of fighting in a firefight."_ She then looked to the side. _"Jazz, please network the Autobot station in with this channel."_

_"Give meh an astrosec."_

For a brief moment, the saboteur reappeared to tap out a new sequence of codes across the control panel. A deep voice from rumbled from off screen. Starscream raised both both ridges in shock; he remembered Soundwave's voice vividly, as it had been one of the last things he heard before Virus had infected him with one of her Alpha-class viruses and the whole crew of the _Darksyde_ had set him adrift to die. Soundwave said something about what sequence of codes Jazz was using. The saboteur replied in kind that he knew what he was doing.

What in the name of Primus was Soundwave doing with the Autobots?

A better question, how the pit had Elita One known anything about the Beta Zen sector when she was all the way over on Earth?

Starscream schooled his features to not betray any of his racing thoughts. Around him, the Neo-Decepticons were not so successful in hiding their various forms of shock and disbelief. Thundercracker was among the most composed, watching Elita One with a reserved expression. Skywarp was easily at the other end of the spectrum, his mouthplates gaping open freely as he stared at Elita One and allowed himself to be further shocked by Soundwave's presence. The presence of Dead End's spark signature announced that the Stunticon had moved from the back of the bridge to stand just behind Starscream, hiding in his shadow.

"Interesting," said the mech.

"What is?" Starscream enquired quietly, trying not to draw the notice of anyone.

"Nothing," replied Dead End on a sigh. "I just think this is interesting."

"Can you see their deaths?"

Dead End blinked up at the screen owlishly. "No, they're too far away. I have to be with them physically." His dead gaze turned to the back of Starscream's head. The Seeker felt his stare acutely the same way he felt cold and sick every time he knew he should have died but didn't. "I don't see anyone dying right now."

"Good."

"Says you." The Stunticon huffed morosely and slunk off.

The screen hosting Elita One suddenly split. Ultra Magnus and the command centre of the Autobot station came into focus in the other half of the screen.

Ultra Magnus fixed Starscream with a penetrating look before addressing Elita._ "With all due respect, Elita One, but have you lost your mind?"_

_"Yes and no,"_ said the femme. _"It has been a very long war. We've all lost something, haven't we?"_

Ultra Magnus did not seem to know how to reply to such a statement.

Starscream canted his head. "What is this about?"

Elita One touched the side of her head in an absent gesture. _"Indeed. As of a few days ago, I was made acting-Prime. The situation on Earth has become more than what we can handle. It has come to my attention that we are in need of more warriors, some of them with certain talents not yet found here on Earth."_ She turned to Ultra Magnus. _"Magnus, I need you to activate the Space Bridge and let Starscream through."_

_"Are you crazy?"_ Hot Rod exclaimed from the background.

_"Hush up!"_ Kup barked.

Ultra Magnus stared for a moment, and then shook his head. _"I cannot possibly-."_

_"You have no choice,"_ Elita interrupted. _"I outrank you and I am ordering you to allow Starscream through."_

_"You want me to allow him through to Earth? Elita, I know it has been a long time since you have been in power, but please consider what you are asking,"_ the large mech implored.

_"I have considered it._" Elita fixed him with a pursed look. "_You may send as many bots of your own as you can spare to accompany Starscream to Earth, if that will assuage your worries. Nevertheless, I will expect him to be given free passage through the Space Bridge. We need him and his forces to deal with what is on Earth."_

_"Have you any idea how irresponsible that sounds? Do you even know his intentions?"_ Ultra Magnus contested, seemingly forgetting that Starscream was still present.

"My intentions," intoned the Seeker with a sharp edge to his words, "are nothing more than rid the universe of a scourge that has run unchecked for too long. I have no ill-will toward Earth, no matter my past associations with the planet."

_"You want to kill Optimus Prime!"_ Hot Rod shouted.

_"I said shut it, Roddy!"_ Kup barked again, this time swatting the other bot.

Elita's gaze, which until now had continued to dart around with an excess of fear she did not seem able to vent, focused with an eerie single-mindedness upon Starscream. _"You don't intend that at all, do you? You won't kill Optimus Prime."_

There was such steel in her tone that Starscream had no doubt he would have to go through her first if he wished to kill the Prime.

"No," he answered. "My enemy is no longer Optimus Prime. I have had a change of spark recently; I know who my real enemies are now."

There was quiet between the three-way channel for an astrosecond, all three sides sizing each other up.

_"How are we to believe that?"_ Ultra Magnus wondered suspiciously.

"I have nothing but my word," said Starscream. "We are not Decepticons any more. When Megatron fell the Decepticons fell with him."

_"Then who are you supposed to be now?"_ Ultra Magnus enquired.

"I am Commander Starscream of the Neo-Decepticons-."

_"Would ya look at that,"_ Jazz laughed, nudging Prowl. _"He's finally commander of something."_

"_Hush,_" Prowl replied softly.

Starscream staunchly ignored them. "Our purpose is to fight...to fight someone worse than Megatron ever was. We are not fighting for domination of the species or for expanding our territories. There are creatures in the universe far worse than the Decepticons ever were and I have no intention of letting them ruin innocent lives more than they already have without a fight."

Elita One inclined her head, her gaze still focused on the Seeker who she did not remember. There was a sincerity about him that she wanted to believe, a depth in his optics that was hauntingly familiar. _"I think... we might be fighting the same enemy."_

Starscream lifted his chin a fraction. "I believe we are."

_"We will have to discuss it when you arrive on Earth,_" said the femme. _"Ultra Magnus, you must trust me on this. I know what I am doing. Allow Starscream and his Neo-Decepticons through to Earth. We need all the warriors we can get for what is coming."_

Tension tightened Ultra Magnus's features. He was a good commander and a loyal Autobot; he was supposed to obey every command of the Prime, or acting-Prime in this case, but to follow Elita's command to allow Starscream through the Space Bridge went against every reservation in his spark.

Jetfire rose from his seat, his gaze trained on Starscream. _"I will accompany the Neo-Decepticons to Earth."_

_"Count me in,"_ Kup said gruffly.

_"Me too!"_ Hot Rod exclaimed, although received several sharp looks for his outburst.

Elita nodded. _"Then I will see you all on Earth as soon as possible."_ She turned to her fellow Autobot. _"Ultra Magnus."_

_"Elita One."_ The commander bowed and the screen went dark.

She turned to Starscream. _"Commander Starscream,"_ she said, inclining her head.

"Elita One," he replied, offering a shallow bow.

She smiled and Jazz cut the channel for her.

Skywarp twittered quietly in the awkward silence that followed. "Am I the only one who gets the sense that something really strange just happened?"

"I get the feeling things are about to get a lot more strange," Starscream sighed.

* * *

The strength Elita had been clinging to for last several breems finally gave out. A rush of air blew out her vents as her hands shot forward to brace her weight against the ledge of the console. Before, she had been too distracted by the urgency of her mission to fully acknowledge how close the walls seemed to be closing in on her. Now that she had nothing else to keep her attention, she saw the walls and the ceiling. They were grey and thick and seemed to be slowly inching inward. She knew it was her own imagination, but the shadows seemed too dark for her liking.

"I-," her voice cracked. She pressed the back of her hand over her mouthplates. Her gaze turned wild again as she eyed the three bots that stared back at her with varying degrees of disbelief.

"I have to get out of here," she managed to say, pushing away from the hard metal of the console. She stumbled on her first step. Soundwave's large hand caught her.

"You just invited Starscream... you just invited _all_ of them to Earth," Prowl intoned, standing by Jazz's shoulder awkwardly. Clearly, his logic circuits were not keeping up with the unanticipated turn of events.

"Yes, I did," Elita said curtly, trying to push away from Soundwave's hand.

"Why?" asked the tactician.

"I have my reasons." She wanted back in her Solarium where she could see the sky and the horizons and know that she was not trapped like an animal in a cage she could never get out of. She needed to get a desperate grip on herself. She was stronger than this!

Soundwave heaved a sigh, never the type of mech to appreciate another's suffering. He peered down at Prowl and Jazz solemnly. "I will escort Elita One outside."

"Take care of her," Jazz said.

The two Autobots stood back to watch as Elita's small shape sucked in a deep drag of air, causing her frame to puff up and flare out. She steadied herself against the hand Soundwave still held out. When she felt ready, she held her chin up and marched stiffly for the door. Soundwave, who stood at nearly three times Elita's height, had to crouch to get out the door, and calmly slouched his way outside in her shadow. He diligently made sure she stumbled to freedom without incident, and then sat back and observed while the acting-Prime revitalized herself under the glare of the hot afternoon sun.

In Elita's absence, Jazz turned his blind stare up to the assortment of EDC agents who had stopped to gape at the scene that had just passed. He hissed at them, which successfully broke up the staring and ushered the little aliens back to their jobs. In their wake, he smirked. Was it right that he enjoyed scaring the little flesh bags once in a while?

Prowl hesitated for a moment, his hand coming to rest at the small of Jazz's back. "Do you get the feeling Elita One is keeping things from us?"

"Of course she is," Jazz replied. "We all have secrets."

The tactician frowned. "Yes, but how could she have possibly known what was happening in the Beta Zen region? She knows when the energy leeches are going to attack before anyone else. She knows where they are going to attack. How can she know the things that she does?"

"Ah don't know," murmured Jazz, leaning against the warm palm that pressed against his back. "There are ways of finding out."

Prowl cast his lover a sidelong glance. "Do you think we should pursue this?"

Jazz pursed his mouthplates. "We'll wait. If she don't start talking soon, then we'll do what we have ta. Ah trust her, but Ah don't trust whatever Shockwave did ta her. He obviously left his scars on her."

A dark glint past through Prowl's gaze. "Right."

Together, they made their way silently out into the hall, drawing up short when a stuttering voice called out for Jazz. From around a corner, Punch hunched into view. He seemed even more bruised than normal. He hunched over, his hands wringing each other tightly. His gaze was both desperate and determined.

"J-Jazz," he stuttered, inching closer.

"Where have ya been, Punch?" Jazz wondered coolly. "Ya haven't been around fer a couple of days."

"Been underground," the other bot said, cringing.

"With Gloom?"

He shook his head quickly. "I've been trying to get myself together. I-I need your h-help. You're the only one who can help m-me."

An electric feeling passed down Jazz's spinal column. He parted from Prowl's side in order to step into Punch's personal space. "What do ya need?"

Punch reached out and clasped Jazz's hand so tightly that the joints ground together painfully.

"I want you to end the mission," he said, voice cracking. "I need you to kill Counterpunch."

Jazz sighed, but he did not question the request. He had known this moment was coming for a long time.

"When?" the saboteur asked.

"Now," Punch choked. "Now, before I- he- Counterpunch- _Urgh_! Before I stop myself!"

"Now is as good a time as any, Ah suppose," Jazz murmured, shaking his hand loose from Punch's death-grip. He cast Prowl a brief look. "We're gonna have ta postpone that date tonight, Prowler."

Prowl inclined his head without taking his optics off of Punch. "I understand."


	30. To be Tormented

Finally managed to fit Hound into the chapter! It made this post super long, but I bet no one is complaining. =P Want to know my inspiration for the last scene of this chapter? _Cupcakes_. No, seriously. Go look up My Little Pony: Cupcakes. I'm not joking. On YouTube there is a spectacular reading of it posted by SedrickProductions. You will never be the same again.

_Starscream__ referring __to __a __deep-space__ anomaly_- Reference to _Even __Angels __Fall, __a_ tie-in one-shot to this series, and basically the beginning of the fall of Cybertron.

_Punch_- For those who are newish to the series, or such old readers that you have forgotten the histories of some of the characters, if you are curious about Punch and his transformation into Counterpunch, two good one-shots to look up are _Looking__ Glass__ Self_ and _Burning __Me __Terribly_. They explain a bit of his history.

_Kev_- The native language of Kaon before the Language Unification Act of Alpha Prime, and also Jazz's native language. Some of you might be familiar with it from _Where__ You __and __I __Collide_. Note who else speaks it in this chapter. =P

My dearest and most sincerest thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter- **Flameshield, Phoebe Turner, Kellie Witwicky, CNightJoy, Alangrieal, renegadewriter8, Midnight Marquis, FORD B, Sprikolas, TransformersLover95, femme4jack, ice around the moon, poiseninja, StarscreamII, Stripperella, Phoenix51, Frenzy5150, Wolf-Mask, Bahamut PURE, Prime13, Silveriss**, and **EmberLady**. There are not enough words in the world to express how deeply touched I was by so many of your reviews. So many of you who have I haven't seen in so long! Thank you so much for sparing that extra moment at the end to say a few words. I appreciate (and love in a totally platonic sort of way) each and every single one of you. I hope you continue to enjoy the story as much as I have enjoyed hearing from you.

**May We Never Let Go  
To be Tormented**

Despite Elita One's orders to allow Starscream and his flock through to Earth, Ultra Magnus retained his reservations. It was perfectly reasonable to be wary, given exactly _who_ Starscream was. The Space Bridge was not going to be opened before he sat down for a reasonable meeting between himself and the so-called leader of the Neo-Decepticons. Considering their dire circumstances, it was the most prudent action to take.

But... no matter all the legitimate reasons for hosting such a meeting, it had its own many logistical problems. No Neo-Decepticon in his right mind was going to set foot on the Autobot station. Likewise, there was no Autobot stupid enough (aside from Hot Rod) who would risk their necks to meet on the Neo-Decepticon's turf.

The only way they were going to meet was on neutral ground.

The only neutral ground available that could be agreed upon on such sort notice was one of the Neutral ships. Out of the dozen or so free-floating ships, an ancient interplanetary merchant ship called _Fong_ was selected. During its prime while Cybertron still had an active economy, _Fong_ had been used to transport massive stock materials between Cybertron and its colonies. Its cargo bay was a cavernous space large enough to host the selected Autobot and Neo-Decepticon parties.

As a precaution, the ship was evacuated of its Neutral residents. The only one who remained was a hulking creature who had suffered massive processor damage long ago in a battle he did not remember. He called himself Bulkhead, but was otherwise a reserved being of quiet disposition who kept to himself and made no trouble for anyone. He stayed behind only for the reason that someone had to be there to set up the cargo bay. Without complaint, he swept the massive bay and lined up tables for the impending meeting.

Five Autobots and five Neo-Decepticons were selected for the meeting.

Ultra Magnus and his selected four accompanying bots showed up first. It was no surprise to see Kup in the commander's company. The two were nearly inseparable entities when it came to the command of the Autobots in Beta Zen. Jetfire was also present, most likely for his past associations with Starscream, rather than his scientific expertise. Springer and Whirl of the Wreckers came as backup in case the meeting devolved into a fight.

Ultra Magnus and Kup immediately assumed their seats. Their backs were tense, their expressions grim. Jetfire was presumably too wound up at the prospect of meeting his old colleagues that he could not bring himself to sit down. Instead, he paced the length of the long tables with his mouthplates moving as if he were silently rehearsing what he might say. Springer and Whirl were much more jovial, spending their time lining Bulkhead's sides as they goaded the larger mech to join the Wreckers. Bulkhead adamantly refused their proposals.

In the midst of fielding yet another invitation to join the Wreckers, Bulkhead cocked his head to the side. He was temporarily synced with _Fong_'s systems, making him aware that the airlock down the hall had been accessed from the outside. The Neo-Decepticons had finally arrived.

Springer noticed the Neutral's distraction. "We not interesting enough for you, big guy?"

"Not really," Bulkhead replied, briefly enjoying the shock on both Wreckers' faceplates. It was his personal opinion that Springer and his group enjoyed way too much fanfare for being a bunch of commandos doing the Autobots' dirty work. Why did everyone have to give so much credit to carnage when they could appreciate a peaceful endeavour like painting?

"Well, isn't that a surge in the circuits," Whirl snorted, elbowing Springer. "Never had no one turn us down for anything."

Bulkhead rolled his optics, opening a private channel to Starscream when the Seeker requested directions to the cargo bay from the airlock.

"Hey!" Kup called over to them, garnering the Wreckers' attentions immediately. His sudden shout also caused Jetfire to jump, while Ultra Magnus rumbled quietly.

"What do you want, old mech?" Springer called back, arms akimbo.

"I want you two to stop flapping your mouthplates at that poor Neutral," Kup said, practically making it an order. "Sit down and make yourselves look professional."

"Us? Professional?" Whirl chirped, shooting an arched look to his fellow Wrecker. Springer looked back with an equally perplexed expression. And then they both burst out laughing.

Kup sat back, unimpressed. "You're here on a mission, both of you. Start acting like it."

"We're slaggin' bodyguards, Kup. Don't you think that's a little demeaning?" Springer laughed.

"You're a pair of glitches too, but you don't see me complainin' about it," Kup grouched. "I meant it when I said sit down, or I'll weld your afts to the seat. We don't wanna make the wrong impression here."

"When did we start caring what they think?" Whirl dragged out his seat and flopped down. He and Springer positioned themselves halfway down the table, dutifully putting themselves between their comrades and the Decepticons.

"We started caring the moment Elita One told us to work with them. She is Prime now and we do what she says," Jetfire intoned quietly. He assumed his seat as well, hunching discreetly as if that would make his large size less noticeable.

Whirl opened his mouthplates to make a comment about Elita One's questionable credentials as Prime... or as a psychologically (un)stable individual. Kup stomped on the Wrecker's foot so hard that the only noise that managed to come out was a broken yowl.

"I won't have you badmouthin' that femme, you hear me?" warned the older mech.

"I hear you," Whirl croaked, easing his throbbing foot away.

"Elita One is ordering us to work with them, and so long as they prove themselves no danger, we will work with them," Ultra Magnus said with a finality as solid as a mountain. "We cannot keep a war going because we refuse to see past our own prejudices. Maybe it's time to give the Decepticons a chance."

Silence settled as a pall over them.

Jetfire checked his chronometer with a mild frown. "Starscream should be here by now."

A snort of air came out Kup's vents. "Aren't Seekers supposed to be _fast_ fliers?"

"They are," Jetfire confirmed. "That's what has me worried."

Springer propped his elbows on the table. "I might not like Seekers much, but I do know there are no faster sentient fliers in the universe."

"Debatable on the sentient part," Whirl snickered.

The door to the cargo bay snapped open with an echoing hiss.

"You'll find," Starscream drawled as he stepped into the room, "that our sentience is beyond question. Unlike some others."

There was no mistake who the last comment was for, especially when five sets of optics drilled into Whirl like laser beams.

As far as entrances went, the Seekers scored theirs with perfect dramatic precision. Their serpentine grace seemed especially accentuated as they moved in formation into the room. The stark lights reflected off their varying paint schemes, ranging from the darkest of violet hues to an optic-catching electric yellow. Each were among the larger models of Seeker frames, adding to their imposing nature. The shortest of the group, Acid Storm, stood even with Ultra Magnus. Four of them had the typical red optics of the Decepticons. The one called Sunstorm possessed blue optics and a curiously benign demeanour.

Ultra Magnus rose from his seat. "Starscream, we were beginning to think you weren't going to show."

Starscream inclined his head to the Autobot commander. "I was always one for being fashionably late."

Mirroring the Autobot's setup, Starscream took his seat at the very end of the table, facing Ultra Magnus. At either of his sides sat Sunstorm and Acid Storm rather than members of his own trine. Thundercracker and Skywarp sat in the seats near the middle, blocking Springer and Whirl. If a fight broke out, it would largely be contained between the Wreckers and Starscream's trine. While Springer and Whirl were impressive for a pair of regular mechs, tall, broad-shouldered, and built for fighting, the Seekers still loomed over them with their impressive size and handsome shape.

Even before everyone was settled, tension immediately spiked.

Thundercracker sat next to Springer. Skywarp was next to Whirl. Springer eased forward in his seat to get a good look at Starscream. The last time they had met, his sword had been through the Seeker's sparkcase. It had been a killing blow. Neither the Wrecker nor the trine involved had forgotten. Thundercracker noticed where the Wrecker's attention was and growled low in warning. Springer twitched, fingers itching for the hilt of his sword.

"Well," intoned Sunstorm in a forced cheerful tone, looking desperate to prevent a fight. "This is, um, good, isn't it? We're all sitting here in one place on neutral ground, finally able to discuss matters. No one's killing anyone-."

"Yet," Skywarp coughed.

"What he said," Whirl grunted.

Kup smacked his palm on the table, causing both bots to jump. "No one will be killing anyone. There are more important things at stake here than a bunch of half-bits posturing."

"Indeed," Jetfire intoned, swinging his gaze to Starscream.

"If anyone will be throwing punches, it will not start with my side," Starscream announced, glaring at the two members of his trine in warning. Both Skywarp and Thundercracker ducked their heads a fraction.

"Nor mine," Ultra Magnus agreed. Springer and Whirl shrunk in their seats.

"I'm glad we have that settled," drawled the lead Seeker. "My intention in coming to the Beta Zen region was never to fight. Honestly, my only interest was to negotiate use of the Space Bridge, if that is possible." His red optics flickered curiously to his Autobot counterpart at the table. "I'm impressed that the great Ultra Magnus himself deigned to come to this meeting."

"I do not take your presence here lightly, Starscream, benign or not."

"I suppose you would have no reason to do otherwise." He allowed his optics to gravitate momentarily toward Jetfire. Familiarity sparked between them. A warm, fluttering feeling of remembering old friendships. Jetfire straightened out of his hunch, his optics seeming brighter as he regarded the roan red Seeker.

"Perhaps we should get this meeting properly underway," Acid Storm said tensely, tapping his diamond-sharp claws against the tabletop. "We gained permission from your Prime to be allowed through to Earth, so I do not see why we are having this meeting. There should be no issue."

"_No __issue_ my aft," Whirl snorted. He knew that he was only there for security detail, so he really should have been opening his mouthplates, but he couldn't let a comment like that slide. "You're a bunch of Decepticons."

"_Neo_-Decepticons," Starscream corrected curtly.

"Different name, same stink," Whirl countered. "You've spent the last couple hundred vorns tearing up the universe like it was your own personal playground and you think it should be no issue to let you through our Space Bridge to Earth? Give us a reason to trust you first."

Thundercracker levelled a black glare at the Wrecker. "You think you're better than us, don't you?"

"So what if I do?" Whirl sneered.

"You Autobots are just as bad as we are, only your memories are a lot more selective," Thundercracker spat, disgust lacing his tone. "You've fought just as much as we have. You've killed just as much as we have. And you've been doing it for the same meaningless reasons for nearly as long as any Decepticon. Our war was lost to all of us the orn the _Nemesis_ and the _Ark_ left Cybertron, but the Autobots are just as guilty as the Decepticons for still fighting."

Whirl jerked as if to jump from his seat. Kup's heavy hand came down in the Wrecker's shoulder with painful intention, keeping him firmly in his seat.

"We're not here to point fingers at anyone," Kup said, fingers digging into the seams of Whirl's armour until the other bot cringed. "I don't care what anyone's reasons were for joining the side they did, or how out of control everything got after the _Ark_ and _Nemesis_ left. We're here to discuss your-," he looked directly at Starscream, "entry into our Space Bridge. Elita One may have given the order, but you can understand that there are still reservations."

"That I can understand," Starscream said solemnly, though his gaze still blazed with insult.

Ultra Magnus leaned forward in his seat, lacing his fingers together and resting them on the tabletop. "I have every respect for Elita One, and I understand that she must have her reasons for her request, but you, Starscream, have been to Earth before. You killed there and caused much damage. How am I to know this won't be a repeat?"

"You have my word," Starscream said. He paused, taking a massive drag of air and letting it out slowly. Pent up anger loosed its grip slowly, draining tension. "I am not the bot I used to be. I realize there was a time in my past when I was a less than reputable creature... but that was another time and another place. I've been given a second chance, and I am not wasting it."

There was such sincerity in his voice that it was nearly palpable in the air. A physical force that compelled listeners to believe him.

"A second chance?" Jetfire wondered, his soft blue optics regarding Starscream with more than just professional detachment.

Starscream hesitated, pressing his mouthplates together. It took him a moment to speak. "A brush with death after I left Earth... Let's just say it changed my life." The mutated antiviral program he had installed so long ago to protect himself in the event that Virus got her viral injectors in him did _a__lot_ more than just keep him from dying an incredibly painful death.

Jetfire canted his head, looking as if he wanted to ask more.

"It sounds ridiculous, but for the first time in a long time, I can see clearly. Think clearly. I swear to you that I am not who I used to be." He offered his hands, palms up, to the Autobots he was being forced to prove himself to. "I have nothing else other than what you see here to prove myself with. If I had meant you any harm, we would have been the first to shoot. You charged weapons on us, not the other way around."

"You'll have to excuse that. _Someone_ was recharging on the job," Springer drawled as he slid a narrowed sidelong glance to Starscream. He was having trouble looking the Seeker in the optic, given that every time he did so, all he saw was Starscream properly impaled on his sword.

A frown curled the Seeker's mouthplates. He, too, recalled vividly what it was like to stare up at the mech who had skewered him. The memory left him unsettled.

Kup drummed his fingertips against the tabletop. "Alright, I'm gonna take a chance and say I believe you. Partially. You were coming in peacefully, no guns, lookin' to talk. I'll go for it just for the sake of this meeting. The part I don't get is Elita One. How the pit did she know you were here?"

"To be honest, I have no clue," Starscream said with a shake of his head. "I'm just as surprised as anyone that Elita One came out of nowhere like that. My convoy just got into the region, so obviously there's no way I could have had prior contact with her. But I certainly am not complaining about her intervention."

"No?" Ultra Magnus inquired.

"She saved us from engaging in a firefight we didn't need, didn't she?" replied the Seeker, inclining his head. "I doubt we would be here, discussing matters as civilly as we are, if it were not for her. For that, I am grateful. It would have been a little more useful if you let us through the Space Bridge without this theatricality, but beggars can't be choosers."

"We're just being cautious," Jetfire sighed. "You can understand, being who you are... what you've done... We just don't want to put anyone at risk. There are so many precious lives on Earth."

"I understand," Starscream acknowledged quietly.

"Still seems suspicious to me. Too much coincidence for my liking," Kup grunted.

"The only thing I can tell you is that I no longer believe in coincidences anymore," Starscream said. "Elita One stopped you from attacking my convoy and she contracted my presence on Earth for a very specific reason. We are fighting the same enemy. The very purpose for the Neo-Decepticons' existence is to fight this threat before it has a chance to... awaken."

There was a beat of silence that hung too heavily in the air.

Sunstorm fidgeted nervously, his sharp fingers drilling against the metal tabletop. He appeared desperate to say something. Two things kept him silent. One was the promise he made to Starscream before they had left for this meeting. He had promised to not breathe a word about Primus or Unicron. It pained him to stay silent on such important matters, but if it was the only way to convince the Autobots of their earnest intentions, then Sunstorm would remain silent. The second reason that kept his mouthplates shut was the stinging pain of Acid Storm's sharp heel driving into the top of his foot, forcing itself deeper every time it looked like his resolve for silence was weakening.

Ultra Magnus's deep voice resonated in the cavernous room. "You mentioned something about fighting a threat when you were talking to Elita One. The same threat that she is fighting."

Roan red shoulders tensed up, then drew back. "I did," breathed the Seeker, his gaze smouldering cautiously like two hot coals deep-set in his faceplate.

"Tell me what you meant."

"I was not expecting anyone to be aware of what is currently floating above Earth," he admitted. "Obviously Elita One knows more than she should about what is going on." Careful words, delivered slowly. Each syllable measured, as if Starscream did not quite know how to answer the question.

"I am not concerned with Elita One's awareness of what is happening on Earth. She is not the focus of this meeting." Ultra Magnus's gaze did not slip from Starscream's. "I am interested in _your_ concern with Earth. How do you know there is something out there? What do you think it is? Why do you think your Neo-Decepticons are necessary in combating it?"

Starscream's optics flashed, his mouthplates parted... no sound came out. What was he supposed to tell them? What did they already know? This was a test, and it was one he couldn't afford to fail. He had been driven this far by an otherworldly determination he hardly understood. When he had come out of that coma on Chaar, it had been like waking up for the first time, and in that single moment he had known exactly what he had to do. How was he supposed to explain that he was drawn to Earth – to the Unmaker himself – without making such a proposal sound _insane?_

...more insane than everything already was.

It was not Starscream to speak first.

Sunstorm's voice, the most beautiful amongst the five Seekers, was a soft melody in the silence as he asked, "Ultra Magnus, what do you believe in?"

"Damn you," Acid Storm cursed, moving to drive his heel deeper into his trine mate's foot. Sunstorm jerked away. Determination laced his handsome features.

"What do you mean?" Ultra Magnus wondered carefully, eyeing the scholar. The only Seeker among the five to possess blue optics.

Sunstorm glanced furtively to Starscream, who nodded in resignation. This caused Acid Storm to curse quietly to himself, acid green armour bristling. There was nothing for the chemist to do, not in front of the Autobots, so he settled back in his seat to glare. As much as he had come to accept the existence of... _Other_ things, he still maintained an intense prejudice toward them. It was his fear that this meeting would collapse at the mere mentioning of mythology.

With permission, the golden Seeker gathered himself and asked, "Do you believe that good exists?"

"Yes."

"Then you must believe that evil exists as well."

"We've all seen too much of it not believe it exists in us all," Ultra Magnus admitted solemnly.

"True. There's terrible evil inside us all," Sunstorm breathed sadly. He cycled air softly. The glint of his blue optics seemed especially pronounced. "Do you believe there are embodiments of good and evil in this universe? Creatures capable of doing unspeakable things..."

It was then that Ultra Magnus, as well as every other Autobot present, knew what was being asked.

"You're asking me if I believe in Unicron." The dryness of the statement scraped like sand-blasting desert winds.

Sunstorm tilted his chin in the air, forcing himself to look proud. "That's exactly what I am asking you."

For a moment, it seemed as if the Autobot commander would say nothing at all. He tilted his head, frowning pensively. Eventually, he said, "Interesting... Kup, I want you to take Springer and Whirl into the hall."

Kup's craggy optic ridge arched inn expectation, waiting for a reason. No explanation came. With a rough groan, he rose to his feet. He would get his reason later. The scrape of his chair was too loud, echoing in the cavernous room. "Well, you heard him," he said to the sitting Wreckers. "Come on, out into the hall."

There were protests on the tip of the Wreckers' vocal processors. Their gases were as dark as storm clouds. Nevertheless, they rose from their seats and allowed Kup to usher them away.

"Acid Storm," Starscream murmured, watching the Autobots leave. "I want you to go with them. Thundercracker, Skywarp, you too."

"Don't you need us anymore?" Skywarp wondered, hopping to his feet.

"Not for this," Starscream assured.

"Don't do anything stupid," Thundercracker rumbled lowly, moving close to his brother to grasp his shoulder before moving away. The three Seekers were gone in quick procession.

Now mostly alone, aside from their selected confidantes, Ultra Magnus admitted, "I have no need to believe in Unicron. I _know_ he exists. In truth, we haven't been given much of a choice other than to accept his existence."

Surprise flashed across Starscream's features before he schooled them into a mask. "Isn't this meeting full of surprises."

"It is."

"You're a scientist, Starscream. You wouldn't even believe in your own shadow until you could see it for yourself," Jetfire intoned lightly. "You, of all bots...?"

"How did I come to believe?" Starscream huffed a bitter noise that could have been a laugh. "Like you, I wasn't given much of a choice."

Jetfire looked sorely tempted to rise from his seat to go to his friend. He stayed where he was, hands clenched to the edge of the table. "But how?"

"Do you remember that strange space anomaly that the Lord Protector had been so curious to check out? The one in sector Omega-66, that dead part of space. I was the was one to take him." Back during the last vorns of the Golden Age. Starscream had been an incredibly arrogant Head Advisor to the Research Core, but he had never been evil. Lord Megatron, likewise, had been equally a jovial mech and a scheming one, but had always worked toward his brother-Prime's goals. Starscream remembered escorting the curious Lord Protector on the routine scouting mission. After that, there was nothing to remember except that it had gone _very_ dark. In hindsight, Starscream knew that was the moment that had changed him forever. "I never did come back from that mission, did I?"

"The Starscream I knew never came back," Jetfire admitted, casting his optics to the ground. "I could never figure out what happened to you or Lord Megatron to change you so drastically."

"I think I only knew about the change subconsciously. My mind wasn't ready to accept what had happened in Omega-66, so I suppressed it," Starscream sighed. "Megatron had been drawn to it... lured there, and I got caught up in the crossfire. When I came out of my coma on Chaar, it all came back to me. Everything seemed so clear, clearer than it had been in a long time."

Sunstorm eased forward, regarding Ultra Magnus with beseeching blue optics. "And you? What made you believe?"

"I suppose you could say we found out the hard way. It was definitely worse for the bots who have been on Earth," Ultra Magnus said roughly. "As it turns out, Megatron was some sort of vessel. His corpse was awakened with Unicron inside. As of late, activity has been getting... worse."

Claws gouged trenches in the tabletop. A growl vibrated darkly through Starscream's frame. "We have no time to lose. The longer Unicron is awake, the stronger he will become."

Ultra Magnus rose from his seat. "You still haven't answered one of my questions, Starscream."

"Which one?"

"Why do you think you and your Neo-Decepticons are necessary in this battle?" Those heavy blue optics stole a glance downward, to the nearly indistinguishable nick on the Seeker's chest.

There was a pause, followed by a quiet curse. "I knew Springer must have said something to you," Starscream murmured, touching the healing wound.

"So he was telling the truth?"

"Unfortunately. Come take a closer look. Come see why I'm necessary for fighting a creature like Unicron." A click, then a hiss. Roan red sheets of metal shifted, the painting glyphs on the armour dancing. A sleek metal box dominated the center of the exposed innards, the front of which was patched with a small square of temp plating. "It goes right through," he said, poking the covered hole. He turned around, exposing the exit wound in his back. "See? A perfect killing blow. Springer's aim was dead on."

Jetfire fell back in his seat with a tumble as it dawned on him what the purpose of this show was. "Could he... could he have missed your spark?"

"I felt it go through. You don't miss something like that." His chest snapped back together, covering most of the damning evidence.

"What _are_ you?" Ultra Magnus asked. There was no disgust in his tone. No fear. Only a biding sense of cautious curiosity. Curiosity only matched by the fascination burgeoning in Jetfire's optics.

"I don't know what I am," Starscream admitted. "What I do know is there is a reason I came back like _this_. I can do something that no one else can. When you're facing a monster that devours planets, you need every advantage you can get."

"Are there others like you?"

"Yes... and no." He regarded the commander with a hard stare. "There is a reason for all of this, I know it. You needed some advantage over Unicron, now you have me and my Neo-Decepticons. You have what I can do. Sunstorm here is our leading expert on all ancient Cybertronian mythology. Everything you ever thought you'd need to fight the Unmaker, you have it with us."

"Too good to be true," Ultra Magnus sighed, making his way around the long table until he stood next to Starscream. "At our darkest hour, you come here offering the answers to all our problems. Bots who can survive death. Scholars who know the myths. A convoy full of waiting warriors." A rough hand scrubbed his tired faceplate. "It seems too much like coincidence to me."

Starscream's optics glinted like jewels. "I told you before, I don't believe in coincidence."

"I want to believe you," said the commander, extending his hand. "The Space Bridge will be opened for you, but you must choose only one ship to go through. Choose your crew wisely. I will send Autobots to accompany you. If more are needed, your other war ships will be allowed through."

Starscream peered down at the offered hand. "You're allowing me through?"

"Yes. Don't make me regret this."

"You won't. I swear."

* * *

Punch could not help the sense of panic that welled inside him with every step he took. An excess of energy that zinged through his neural wires potently. A fight or flight reflex stuck permanently on flight.

The panic was not his own, but Counterpunch's. He could feel that other side of himself festering like a sickness. Rising up inside as the same feeling he got on the brink of purging. A madly skittering presence that was as cowardly as it had been programmed to be, but laced with outrage and resistance. Counterpunch knew he was going to die and he was doing everything to stop it. The spark that beat inside his chest felt as if it belonged to a stranger. It beat too fast, out of sync with the rest of his frame's processes. His joints felt like their were seizing, rusting over.

Inside his head, he heard no physical voice, yet... deep inside, that part of him that he was trying to suppress, trying to control, trying to kill... it screamed that it was not ready to die.

Jazz's hand clamped around Punch's shoulder like a vice, having sensed the agent's rising tension. "It's almost over, Punch. He'll be gone soon."

Never had Punch been so grateful for his commander's stark way of putting things. Sure, Jazz was known for being a charmer when he wanted something out of someone, but when it came to his agents, he never minced words. Even on the orn Jazz had broached the experimental undercover mission that would begin Punch's journey into madness, he had been so stark about the reality of it.

"_You're one of the best agents Ah have, Punch – Ah wouldn't ask no one else ta do this. Deep under-cover stuff, experimental. It'll require ya ta change. It'll be a lot of changing. Can't guarantee you'll come back the same way ya left in." _

As stark as those words were, the undercurrent of them was even starker: there was a chance Punch might not come back at all.

Back then, Jazz had only been commander for Special Ops for a couple of vorns. Maybe a dozen vorns... or more? He'd already proven himself a thousand times over how far he was willing to go for the Autobots. There was no questioning his loyalty. No questioning his dedication to his division. Punch hadn't even thought twice about accepting the mission. All he had needed to know was that Jazz had selected him out of all the capable bots he had at his disposal.

Punch blinked out of his reverie when he realized they were finally at their destination. A plain door loomed in front of them, located on the third floor of the subterranean barracks. Jazz and Prowl's room. The door hissed open for them.

Punch's legs suddenly no longer obeyed him. He felt himself moving backwards.

Jazz's claws bit into his shoulder sharply. "Don't even think about it."

"It's not me," Punch admitted shamefully.

"Ah know," Jazz snorted. "Was talkin' ta Counterpunch." His visor glared deeply into Punch; even blind, Jazz could stare so deeply into a bot that it felt as if they were being dissected. He stared straight past Punch into the squirming mass of consciousness that was Counterpunch. "Ah brought ya into this world an' Ah can sure as pit take ya out of it."

A physical recoil seized Punch's frame. Words nearly forced themselves past his mouthplates. He gritted the plates together, refusing to give Counterpunch any rein. That damned side of himself was not going to win.

The pressure in Punch's shoulder bid him forward into the room. Prowl's steady presence at his back made sure he couldn't back himself out. Punch was guided to the large berth in the room. Out of respect for the two commander, he kept his optics downcast. He did not show interest in anything in the room. He sat on the edge of the scarred berth with his hands tucked beneath him. There was a heavy non-silence in the room, filled with the noises of two bots shifting around and one bound to the berth.

Prowl turned to Jazz and laid his hand upon a silver shoulder. When he spoke, he did not use Main Cybertronian, the language every Cybertronian spoke. Instead, he used an older language that Punch did not understand. _"__Do__ you __know __what__ you__ are__ doing?__"_

"_Of__ course __I __do,__"_ Jazz replied, likewise in Kev.

There was a pregnant pause. _"__Are __you __sure?__"_

For the first time, a flash of unease crept across the saboteur's features. _"__No,__ but __I'm __gonna __do__ it __anyways.__" _

Prowl let his hand fall away from his lover, his expression clouded with worry.

Punch drew a shuddering drag of air in through his vents. The cool, earth-rich smelling air did nothing to calm him. The words he listened to only made his spark flutter more; Counterpunch grew more frantic, clawing inside him like a physical force attempting to escape. He wondered what the odd rattling noise in the room was, until he realized it was the sound of his armour shivering against the metal slab he sat on.

_'I __want __this,_' he told himself, bowing his head. It felt like his processor was swelling, pushing against the inside of his cranium. At any moment his head might explode. The feeling had started from the moment he had decided that Counterpunch had to die. For nearly three days, he had fought with his 'other half' to get above ground to the only bot who could help him. _'This __is __happening.'_

"Lie down," Jazz ordered in Main Cybertronian.

Punch complied immediately, only to feel panic welling in him worse than before. It was choking him alive. He watched as his commander yanked open a drawer and withdrew four pairs of modified stasis cuffs. Long chains of reinforced metal linked the two cuffs of every pair together. A curious design, since most cuffs locked the wearer's wrists and forearms in vice-grip casts solidly fused to each other. The effect of it was to paralyse that specific part of the frame and disable the whole frame's transformation abilities. Chains between the cuffs allowed for too much movement. Too much of a chance of someone escaping.

"Are those necessary?" Punch asked, watching as two pairs were handed to Prowl.

"They are," Jazz said. "Counterpunch is so much a part of ya now, the moment Ah go inside your head and start taking him out, it's gonna feel like you're dying. It's gonna feel like nothing you've ever felt before. The cuffs will hold ya down in case you or Counterpunch try ta fight it."

A cuff snapped around his wrist, locking tight. His arm was stretched above his head so the other end of the cuff was latched to a metal loop anchored into the wall at the head of the berth. At his ankles, Prowl secured one of his cuffs of Punch's ankle and the other end to a loop embedded at the end of the berth. As the third and fourth cuffs were being applied, it suddenly occurred to him that those cuffs and those loops in the walls were not there for his benefit.

An incredulous sort of horror crept up in him.

Jazz did not need to see Punch's expression to know what he currently looked like. For some reason, he got a kick out of Punch's incredulity, going so far as to wink. "Sometimes, ya gotta get creative, ya know?"

"I didn't need to know that. At all." Punch sighed. He tugged at his bonds, testing them. Each held secure. Not that he expected any less; both Prowl and Jazz were exceptionally strong bots, so the cuffs would need to be strong to hold them. He tried not to think about which bot volunteered to be cuffed and which one did the cuffing.

"When Ah'm through with ya, ya probably won't remember anything about this at all," Jazz said, propping his hip against the edge of the berth, standing near Punch's head. "Bots around here might be touting the human way of doing things, talking about our issues to make ourselves feel better, but that ain't gonna fix ya. Ah'm gonna have ta go in hard and rip the programming out. Ah got a good guess that Counterpunch is embedded in more than just the file Ah installed when ya first took the mission."

"A bit of an understatement," Punch said.

"Figured as much." There was no comfort in the saboteur's tone, only quiet resignation alongside his usual nonchalance. "When Counterpunch is gone, it's gonna leave gaping holes in your processor. Ah'll reprogram everything as best Ah can ta fill in the holes, but Ah won't be able ta save everything. You're gonna lose things, including memories. Are ya okay with that?"

"Anything is better than the way I've been living."

"Ah should have ended the mission a long time ago," Jazz sighed. It was the closest thing to an apology Punch ever expected to hear from him.

Despite the raging fear that was boiling up inside him, liquifying his innards into one festering heap of _get__ the __frag __out __of __there!,_ Punch managed a weak smile. He didn't think he could manage to say anything, not with the way his mouthplates were quivering. The rattling in his frame was growing worse. Counterpunch was close to breaking through.

Jazz turned to Prowl. "Ah need ya ta stay out in the hall," he said.

Prowl's cold gaze moved between the agent on the berth and his lover. "Are you sure you will be able to handle this without my assistance?"

"Yeah, Ah'm sure," replied the silver mech, sporting a dark expression that said he had done a lot worse than what he was about to do. No one in the room dared doubt that Jazz had done some very terrible things before he became an Autobot. "No matter what ya hear in here, don't come in. Make sure no one else comes in, either. What ya see might not be pretty. This is between meh and Punch."

The tactician hesitated, and then his hand reached out to entwine his fingers with his lover's in a show of silent support. As quickly as the gesture had been offered, it ended. Prowl stepped back, glancing at Punch with a cool expression.

"Good luck," he said, gliding from the room with the door hissing shut behind him.

In his absence, Jazz hauled himself up on the berth and sat next to Punch. Stretched out as he was on the berth, chained there with very little room for movement, Punch felt especially vulnerable. He squirmed, and it was not just Counterpunch's anxiety that forced him to move. For as much respect as he held for the Special Ops commander, there was always a little bit of fear underlying it.

"Ah don't know how long this is gonna take," Jazz said.

"As long as it takes. I don't care," Punch said through gritted mouthplates. So what if it sounded a little reckless. He was done with being divided.

"Just be prepared." Jazz's interface panel clicked open. Silver fingers withdrew the long, black cord which served as his cable. Punch shuddered, opening his own interface panel to expose his port. There was no ceremony as Jazz leaned over and connected. The cable was light, and yet it seemed to sit across Punch's chest as a terrible weight. The needle-like tip which connected them felt especially sharp as it entered. Immediately, the process of synchronizing their processors began.

An intense blast of panic exploded inside of Punch's head as Counterpunch registered what was happening. The sensation was so powerful that it blanked his vision for several seconds. A wailing noise rose up in his audios. Every neural wire came alive with an excess of energy that made it feel like pins and needles were being stabbed into every vital spot on his frame. He felt his frame arching until only his head and feet touched the berth. Jazz was nearly thrown to the floor. His quick thinking had him flipping up onto Punch's frame, straddling him with the full force of his weight to keep the agent down.

"N-no! S-s-stop!" Counterpunch howled. His wrists jerked at the bonds to no avail. He kicked out with no effectiveness.

"Ain't stoppin' now."

Their minds synchronized.

Jazz was immediately attacked by the maelstrom of rage, panic, and fear. Saturated, wretched, overpowering emotions that pummelled him for all sides. Like a storm that howled, winds wailing, debris battering him from all sides on the mental plane. Data streams were in ruins. Files corrupted. Firewalls shot full of holes and crumbling down. There was damage everywhere. Like war zone that had seen the worse visions of battle, casualties strewn across the mental battlefield. Counterpunch had mutated from a benign program into a cancerous infection.

Punch's physical writhing mirrored the churning depths of his mind. If Jazz had been a lesser bot, he would have either gotten sea sick from the tossing or driven insane by the force of the emotions battering him like wind with claws. Instead, Jazz held on like a steady anchor. He knew how to handle such intense emotions, not from himself but from inducing them in others. His claws dug into Punch's shoulders, using his magnet touch to adhere him to the agent to make sure they were not separated. The claws he sunk into Punch's mind were even sharper, and he knew that he was hurting the other mech with such brutality, but it was necessary. He was the one who allowed Punch to sink into such a horrible state, and he was going to be the one to fix him.

A terrible, agonized wail rose up as Jazz started hacking his way through Punch's mind. Under normal circumstances, for a bot whose mind was not under such intense duress, Jazz could have easily navigated without causing pain. He could be slick and quicksilver fast when he wanted to be; under the right circumstances, he could be in and out of a processor before anyone noticed him. Unfortunately, there were no clean data streams to follow or uncorrupted file directories to navigate through. Jazz was forced to hack viciously through the mess in order to get to the spark of the problem.

_'N-no! Y-y-you can't do th-this! I'm alive! I'm alive!' _

Jazz closed himself off from the sound of begging. He did not bow to the besieging of ghosts. No, not even a ghost. Counterpunch was nothing but a program gone wrong. A non-entity that did not exist beyond the ones and zeros of his binary cage. He transmitted that thought outward, letting it be picked up and swept away.

An agonized wail, more anguished than ever before, howled above the metaphysical winds whipping through Punch's processor.

In the physical world, Jazz bore down on the wild frame beneath him. Movement became more frenzied. Energon started to flow where Jazz's claws sank into open spaces between the slates in the armour, nicking energon lines. Hot, wet pulses oozed over his fingers, through his joints. As Punch bucked, Jazz's knees slapped into splashes of energon. Gore smeared down his shins. Crusting in his knee joints.

"Hang in there, Punch," he ordered, nearly shouting.

"Keep going!" Punch begged, barely audible above the sounds of his groaning frame. Joints that screeched and armour that cracked together. His spinal column burned from feverish twisting. He was nearly blind to the world as his optics flashed between red and blue, red and blue, red and blue. Sickly sweetness rolled up from his tanks. Thick, rotted, and congealed... energon laced with cyanide came back up the way it went down. There was nothing he could do as it choked passed every valve and sprayed out his mouthplates. It coated Jazz's front. Foamed energon bubbled at the corners of his mouthplates.

Jazz snarled in disgust. For once, he was glad to not be able to see himself. He concentrated on the task at hand. A wash of victory sparked inside him when he finally found what he was looking for. The spark of the problem; Counterpunch's original program.

"_Got'cha,__"_ Jazz hissed.

If programs could have physical shape, if they could have colour, smell, taste, and feel... Counterpunch would be twisted and rotten, saturated in the stench of fear, selfishness, and putrefied remains. The feel would be of crumbling metal, caked with rust and flaking to pieces. A flavour of bitterness and desperation so thick that it was stifling. Choking. And yet, for all the corruption in the program, there was no evil. No malevolence. There was only a very confused semi-consciousness that had convinced itself it was real and was now fighting for its life.

Counterpunch's influence had sunk so deep into Punch's mind that extraction would not be easy. Not that it would be hard either, per se. Jazz had done more difficult things than removing tumorous programs in the past. For example, hacking into a space station in another galaxy. What made this particular task a challenge was how deeply rooted Counterpunch was in every aspect of Punch's mind. Like a weed that had sprouted roots a thousand times as big as the actual body of the plant.

Jazz dove into the mass of data and, for lack of a better term, _pulled_. He yanked at the embedded data, shredding whatever streams of data he came upon. Anything he touched, he started deleting. Even the surrounding data files were not safe. Gaping 'wounds' started opening up. Massive black holes in the data. Pieces of Punch that would never come back.

Counterpunch knew he was dying. He had been programmed to be a non-entity, a shadow of a ghost whose likeness was worn by an agent who played him as a coward. He had no skills. Possessed no talent. There was nothing he could defend himself with as Jazz continued his merciless assault. He knew he was dying, but he did not _feel_ it as a living being would feel. There was no pain for him. No frame to feel pain with. He was only aware that parts of him were disappearing. The darkness of oblivion was looming closer.

Punch, on the other hand... he felt every moment it.

He screams doubled in pitch and desperation. His frame became seized by the agony ripping through him. He no longer bucked like an animal, incapable of movement. Fists clenched so tight his fingertips gouged his palms. Knees drawn together, grinding until paint flaked away and metal shavings started falling. His frame was rigid like a taut tension wire, wracked by intense vibrations. His optics shot wide, unseeing. Pressure in his cranium grew to such an unbearable level that energon lines started bursting. Watery energon leaked out from behind the lenses of his optics, rushing like rivers of tears down his contorted faceplate.

The true agony was inside his mind.

Pieces of himself disappearing. Jazz's claws sunk deep into the vulnerable underbelly of his mind, ripping deep... and then deeper. Like swords slashing through data streams. Dynamite detonating mountains worth of memories. Large pieces of himself that had been set aside for Counterpunch were uprooted and set on fire. Memories turned blurry and strange. Basic information from his directory turned into a foreign soup of muddled ones and zeroes. His existence became disconnected from the reality he was supposed to be living. Suddenly, he was not Autobot Punch of Special Ops. He was a ball of energy trapped inside a metal cage; he was a spark trapped inside the cage called Autobot Punch of Special Ops. He was aware of himself being two things at once; the physical metal frame that was so heavy and offensive, and the transient ball of energy whose tether to the world was only as strong as the cage that held it.

Bursts of light went off behind his optics. Popping noises exploded in his audios, like the links in a chain shattering like firecrackers. A tether was being loosened. Shredded. Thoughts became scattered. He didn't feel much pain anymore. He knew he was in pain, but he'd past the threshold of being able to comprehend it anymore. It was distant to him, like a dream.

A voice that sounded remarkably like his own sighed. _"__Alright,__ I- I__ give __in.__"_

When the blessed darkness came, he let himself be embraced by it. In those last few moments of awareness, he felt so _light_.

Punch's frame slumped motionless against the berth.

Jazz cursed something raw and vile, but then heaved a coarse laugh...only to wince at the headache that had formed between his empty optic sockets. Punch was alive, but convinced that he was dead. His mind had settled into a haunting calm. The worst of it was over. He'd managed to rip Counterpunch's so-called spark out of Punch's mind. Now there came the clean up, prying the rest of the tumorous strands of data out of Punch's head. Trying to fix the massive amounts of damage that not only Counterpunch had been able to create, but what Jazz himself had managed to inflict while trying to help.

There came a knock at the door after an eternity. Jazz had not bothered to keep track of time while he worked to restore Punch's processor to a semblance of its old self. Now that he checked, he was surprised to find that several joors had passed. It was now after midnight. Upon realizing this, Jazz also realized how exhausted he was and how much his head hurt.

"Jazz?" Prowl called quietly.

"It's over," Jazz announced, disengaging from Punch and coiling his cable away. His fingers felt sore and stiff from clenching for so long. The powerful electromagnetic generators in his palms throbbed, feeling hot to the touch. "Ya can come in now."

Prowl entered cautiously, optics searching out his lover. He took in Jazz's hunched posture, the subtle trembling in his arms and legs.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"Meh? Fine," Jazz grunted. "Never been better."

"And him?"

"He's gonna be okay. Maybe not right now, but give him a couple of orns ta adjust ta the changes and he should be fine," Jazz replied, easing off with a groan. Large hands grasped his upper arms to help him stand. Jazz smiled tiredly at the small kindness, patting Prowl on the chest to convey his thanks. "Ah did everything Ah could for him."

"I know you did. You would never do anything less," Prowl murmured, leaning his head against Jazz's. "How much data was lost?"

"More than Ah care ta say." Jazz nearly scrubbed his faceplate with his palm until he realized how caked with energon it was. He let his hand fall back to his side. "He's a strong bot. He'll pull through."

"Is it safe to leave him?" Prowl wondered, hoping to take a brief trip down to the wash racks to rid the energon that Jazz now wore like a second coat of paint. The saboteur wore the gore as comfortably as he wore his own paint.

"Probably not," Jazz sighed, watching Punch's motionless frame. "Someone should keep an optic on him until he comes online."

A soft knock sounded at the open doorway, alerting the pair to the new figure who stood silhouetted in the harsh light in the hall.

"Mirage," Jazz acknowledged with a tilt of his head. He'd know that particular spark signature anywhere.

"I'll stay with him," Mirage offered, not waiting for an invitation before stepping into the room.

"How-?" Prowl began.

"Honestly? The walls aren't that thick," Mirage said with a frown. "I could hear what you were doing from my room. When I couldn't find Punch, I knew he finally... sought you out." His glacial optics darted briefly to Jazz. "I assume you finally did what you should have done a long time ago."

Jazz bristled. "If you're talking about Counterpunch, then yeah, he's gone."

"I was actually referring to relinquishing Punch back into my division, but getting rid of Counterpunch works too," the Master Spy said, with a not-quite-a-smirk leering across his mouthplates.

"It's Punch's decision whether he wants ta go back ta your second-rate division," Jazz snorted. If he wasn't so exhausted, he would have been happy to punch the other commander squarely in the center of his faceplate. Mirage had always had that affect on him.

"I'm sure he'll make the right choice when the time comes," Mirage said. "In the meantime, I will look after him while you recover from this debacle."

"Ah'm tempted ta tell ya ta go suck exhaust, but Ah need a little time in the wash racks," Jazz sighed.

Mirage seated himself on the edge of the berth, one hand resting on Punch's unmoving thigh. "Go. He will still be here when you get back."

Prowl put pressure on Jazz's shoulders to force him to leave. It took another two astroseconds before the saboteur allowed himself to be steered from the room. By the time he was bodily handled into the hallway and guided to the lift at the end, he came to several conclusions. Counterpunch was dead and gone. Punch as going to fine. Mirage was acting too fond of the agent for it to be entirely platonic, and that perhaps there was some rebound involved because _everyone_ knew about Hound and Chase. And, perhaps he should expect a transfer notice soon, because he imagined Punch would simply like some distance from the division that had _divided_ him for so long.

Also, it had been a very long orn.

* * *

While it was a well known fact that Cybertronians, in general, did not rely on their sense of sight as strongly as they relied on their many other senses, most Cybertronians did prefer being able to see over the alternative. Most would say they preferred the light over darkness. They neither needed light to see by, nor to survive with as many organic species needed, but there was comfort in the light that was hard to come by in the darkness. There was warmth in the shine of the sun, where in the shade there was only a cool caress. Colours had the chance to bloom richly in saturated rainbows of technicolour, whereas in the gloom there was only the washed out existence of a dreary monochrome. In the most simplistic of terms, ignoring the many shades of grey which reality was prone to existing in, light meant good and the darkness was bad.

In the dank darkness of the buried Libyan desert temple, Hound had not seen nor felt light since the moment Nemesis Prime had dragged him back beneath the sands. He had not felt warmth, nor seen colour, nor felt even the most meagre sliver of goodness in too long. Logically, he knew his imprisonment had not been for very long – a few days at most - but Nemesis Prime had a way of making even a single second grind by like the stretch of a thousand years. It felt as if the unnatural darkness, thicker, heavier, and more sentient than any absence of light Hound had ever known before, was seeping into his frame. A malevolent consciousness that stole under his armour, crept into his spark, and snatched from him the pieces of himself that he held on to the dearest. In its wake, only the most vile parts of himself were left to eat away at him.

The darkness was not even the worst part. Hound could almost handle the hopelessness of being left alone with his most desolate mistakes and regrets. It was when Nemesis Prime joined him that everything turned worse. The monster seemed to have a gift for torment, both the physical and the emotional. He took utter delight in every moment of anguish he could inflict on Hound. He was a beast whose claws could become words that sunk deep into Hound's spark and rip him apart from the inside just as easily as when he physically reached inside and started pulling things out.

In the bleakest moments, Hound found himself wishing for...

For...

He couldn't bring himself to think the thought. Not now. He had to be strong. Someone would come for him. They would. Soon. And when they did, he would be home again. Safe. With his friends. Family.

_Chase._

Primus, what was he supposed to say to Chase? _I'm __sorry?__ I__ didn't __mean __it? __I __couldn't __help __myself?_ He wanted to purge as the words repeated endlessly through his head. They were all so inadequate to the heinous act he was trying to apologize for. The guilt alone was killing him inside. Even if he survived this, he didn't think he had the courage to face Chase. She would hate him for this. No matter the fact that his actions had been controlled, they both would know it had been his shoulder mount that delivered the final blow. Whatever fragile bridge existed between them would be eaten away by that knowledge.

A part of him was beginning to accept that maybe he _deserved_ this for killing Mikaela. This was the universe's way of making him pay for not being fast enough, smart enough, strong enough to protect the people he loved. No one should be allowed to go unpunished for murdering their own ward. Their own _daughter_.

In the distance echoed the footsteps of The Nemesis, as if summoned by the darkly spiralling thoughts swirling Hound's mind. Two small beacons of red light entered the cavern, floating forward until Hound could feel Nemesis's looming presence in front of him.

"I wonder..." Nemesis Prime's hand was a touch of ice against Hound's faceplate. Black ice. "How do you live with yourself, knowing what you've done? Does it haunt you? Do you let it consume you?"

Hound gritted his mouthplates and said nothing. He turned his faceplate away from the monster.

"You think about it, don't you?" Nemesis murmured in that smooth-as-cyanide voice. "It replays in your mind during your every waking moment. I love how you can't escape from it. You will live for the rest of your life always seeing that last look of terror on that human's face before she died."

_'No,__ not __again. __Please __not __again,_' Hound silently begged, screwing his optics shut. The memories did haunt him in his every waking moment. They replayed while he recharged. It was true that he would never escape from the memory. He would always know what he had done. It weighed like black stones in his spark.

The red glow of Nemesis's optics seared against Hound's scarred plating. "You're thinking about it right now, aren't you?"

"No," Hound croaked.

The hand on his faceplate slid low, pressing against his neck. Hound felt a wave of intense vulnerability sweep through him. Nemesis Prime was a terrible creature, but also a disgustingly curious creature. He liked to discover how things fit inside. Take out all the pieces, play with them, and then try to put them back in the same order. Or maybe mix them up and see what happens. Hound knew firsthand what it was like to suffer under such curiosities.

"Why do you lie?" Nemesis laughed, canting his head. "I know you are thinking about her. Your misery is so sweet. Tell me you're thinking about her." The pressure on Hound's neck increased.

"I..." He could not force anymore words out.

The pressure disappeared as Nemesis Prime rocked back on his heels. "Maybe it's too hard for you to admit it, hmm? I can help you with that."

Hound shuddered.

Nemesis breathed a soft, mirthless sound. "Let's look inside, shall we? I bet this time, I'll find the place where you keep your guilt."

Hound felt the world shifting as a hand wrapped around his ankle and started pulling. Coldness seeped into his frame like the darkness, paralysing him so that he could not fight back. He could not move, but he could feel. Oh Primus, he would be able to feel everything that would be done to him. Nemesis laid him out like a sacrifice. Brushed dirt from him in some cruel form of kindness. Adjusted him so that he laid like a broken little doll.

On some unseen cue, a kremzeek rushed into the room and light the ample theatre with stark light.

No matter how strong the desire was to open his optics and soak up some of that precious light, Hound knew it wasn't real. Not true light. It was devoid of substance. Empty of all warmth. The kremzeek was nothing but a dead thing that shouldn't exist. All it did was reveal what kind of grotesque reality Hound had fallen into. He did not want to see what had become of himself. It was enough to be able to feel the jaggedness of his open chest cavity. The cold, congealed slide of wet energon oozing against the dried crust of old wounds. He felt the sweep and swing of bits and pieces of himself hanging loose, dangling in ways they were never meant to.

No matter what he heard, what he felt, he knew he didn't want to see.

"I wonder why you never look," mused his captor, touching Hound's faceplate again. Cold fingers traced over Hound's shuttered optics as if he could tempt them to open. "Are you afraid of what you might see?"

A choking noise fell from between Hound's mouthplates.

Nemesis smirked. "Don't you already know what's inside you? Isn't looking at your insides just like looking at your outsides?" Hands shifted around inside Hound's scrambled parts. Metal chinked against each other, wires hissed, wet energon gurgled. "Metal and wires and silicone and energon. You're made up of such ordinary things. Your parts are the same things are ship parts. What makes some parts alive and others not?"

Cold hands travelled down, moving passed the jagged edges of gaping wounds to be able to sink into the writhing mass of stained innards, wet with excess energon. Hound gurgled a noise that he worked hard to smother. His frame arched as fingers wrapped around something deep inside him, slowly drawing it out in one slick, smooth tug.

"Like this, for instance. Isn't this just a normal energon line? It's made of silicone and polymers. Energon flows through it. What's so disturbing about this that you can't bring yourself to look at it?" Fingers moved like the legs of spiders, gently torturing the frame part they held.

Hound pressed his cheek to the dirt. His vents filled with dirt as he panted like a rabid animal. His tanks jerked as one of the main feed lines exiting it was manipulated. It stretched and stretched. He could feel everything attached to that line tugging with every movement. Soon, the line would rip and tear, and Hound would no longer be able to hold back his screams.

Nemesis drew his fingers along the line, then bent his faceplate to run his mouthplates across it. Congealed energon accumulated at the corners, running down his chin. "It fascinates me how everything fits inside. There's so many bits and pieces."

"Please, stop..."

The pitiful request was ignored.

Nemesis purred lowly as he worked, manipulating the prize in his hands so he could see it from all directions. "It's not until you start taking things out that you realize everything goes in a certain place, and its packed so perfectly that you can't imagine anyone less than a god creating such perfection. Living things are near-perfect machines."

One sharp tug and the line ripped. Severed. Like slow motion, every tearing fibre could be felt acutely. Hound howled so loud the cave became a deafening cacophony of echoed screaming. Fire and ice rushed through him. His optics burned to be opened. Fear needed to be given a face. Given a form. He needed to look into the optics of the bot who was doing this to him.

Still, Hound clamped his optics shut.

Nemesis drenched his fingers in the flow of energon that sprayed out. He tipped the tube to peer down inside it, as if Hound's guilt might be hiding in there. "I wonder what god created you? Not Psi, I know that," he sneered. "He could barely make up his own mind, let alone make up a whole species." The energon line was tied in a knot and set aside. A new piece of untouched internal machinery was selected. "Where I am from, there are no living things. It's taken me a while to remember who I am, but it is finally coming back to me. There used to be living things in my universe, but there aren't anymore. My kind, we made those living things. We watched them grow and change and stagnate, and finally we grew bored of them. Now nothing lives in the Dead Universe. It makes me appreciate the gift of life that thrives so abundantly here. It's different and...delicious."

There was a pause, a thoughtful silence. Nemesis dragged in a quiet draft of air, and then released it.

"Do you know how much my brethren and I will appreciate that gift of life when we expand our universe to consume this one? There are no words to describe it."

He sounded breathless at the prospect.

Hands closed around raw neural wires surround the sparkcase, scrapping them until they burned red-hot. Fire erupted inside Hound until he could no longer contain it. His pain was released in the form of a screech that turned his vocal processor inside out.

Nemesis laughed with his head thrown back, basking in the potent anguish radiating from his victim. He soaked up the horrified expression, the slack frame that begged to writhe in pain but was paralysed. The fear and the agony and the guilt this one bot suffered was a buffet. Oh, the _guilt_ was the most delicious of all. Sickly sweet, like poison that turned the spark black and bitter.

"Is this where you keep your guilt?" he asked, tapping the sparkcase. The spark hiding behind the metal fluttered in a panic. "Is it all tucked away in this pretty little cage?"

"No," Hound sobbed weakly.

"No? Are you sure?" He was enjoying himself. Loving every moment of it. "You've lied to me before. I think the right answer might be _yes_." He drew his finger down the metal, gouging a thin line in its wake. Neural wires snapped like threads, sparking angrily. Where numbness should have set in, there was only more intense agony.

Mouthplates opened wide on a silent scream.

"Don't you ever wonder about these things – your _sparks?_ Are they like batteries that keep you running?"

Hound sobbed harder. He could no longer form words.

"No, batteries don't sound right. They're more than that, aren't they?" Nemesis drawled. "You're really just a parasite inside a metal shell. The spark - that's where you're truly alive. It's the only thing that's truly alive about you. Everything else is just an illusion." There was quiet laughter. "If I pulled your spark out, would it take the guilt with it?"

Hound wished he could shake his head. He wished he could do anything other than lay there and let this happen to him.

"Why don't you open your optics and have a look?" Nemesis invited. "Imagine how good it would feel to watch your guilt be taken away. It will be like you never murdered your little human. There will be no more pain, no more regret. In fact, you'll never have to feel anything ever again."

That was a lie.

Nemesis wouldn't kill him. So long as Hound lived, the _Others_ on Earth couldn't come near the Dark Prime. Until The Nemesis's plans came to fruition, he would always need a proper Cybertronian on hand as insurance. That was the game. Keeping one tiny life tethered to this world for as long as possible while milking him dry of as much misery as he possibly could. It was a fun game. Doing everything he wanted, indulging his whims to see how everything fit inside, while keeping the miserable scrap alive. As soon as the Dead Universe devoured this one, he would let Hound die, because it wouldn't matter anymore. Everything would be dead. Everything would be misery.

Nemesis supposed he had Unicron to thank for helping the Expansion along.

Cold, cold hands sunk so deep inside of Hound that they drained the last vestiges of warmth from inside. He turned so cold that he would never feel warm again. There was only black ice cold. Wrapping around his spark. Fingers like icicle claws. A cage that slowly grew smaller and smaller. Lights flashed in the cracks that appeared in the metal. Energy flashing frenetically as it sought escape from the torture.

Hound's optics flew open of their own accord. Regret blistered through him as his vision focused. Seeing everything made it worse. Made him sick. He could see the macabre scene of his own frame laid out before him, spread open like some twisted puzzle. He twitched, and gurgled, and steamed, and writhed inside. Pieces of himself laid broken and ripped and dead, rotting. Evidence of several sessions with Nemesis compiled into one gigantic mosaic of garish horror, cast over by stark fake light from a damned creature and highlighted by the blue light of his own life force slipping away.

Nemesis loomed over him, malevolence alive in his red gaze. He was hungry for the begging. He wanted to hear a plea for the end just so he could deny it.

Sobbing filled the cavern.

"I'm sorry!" Hound screamed. "Mikaela, I'm so sorry!"

Nemesis jerked back with a hiss. "What did you just say?"

The demand was ignored. There was only one creature Hound wished to talk to, and if there was some part of Mikaela that survive her death, he hoped that she could hear him. For as much as he wanted to ask for the end, he needed forgiveness more.

"Dearspark, I'm so sorry for what I did! Please forgive me! Please don't hate me!"

"You were supposed to beg," Nemesis growled, shifting away from the wailing mess. "Why won't you beg?"

"Because some things are more important than my own life," Hound spat, spraying flecks of glowing blue as he spoke.

"We'll see about that," said the Dark Prime, rising to his feet. The kremzeek zoomed out of the cave, ushering in the return of the consuming darkness. Only the Nemesis's glowing optics pierced the gloom. "The game is not over. You haven't begun to see what I'm capable of."

For an eternity afterwards, Hound lay motionless on the ground until his frame became his own again. As badly as he wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he propped himself up against the wall of the cave and cried.

He cried and he cried, because that's all he could do while the darkness swallowed him whole.


	31. To Spoon

_Sari Sumdac & Miko Nakadai_- They are from _Transformers: Animated _and _Transformers: Prime, _respectively. They have been WE-ified. O_o

_Psi's Latin_- Thus far, the only language Psi has managed to pick up on Earth with any fluency is Latin. Go figure, a dead language. He knows bits and pieces of other languages, like hello, goodbye, yes, no, and all the swear words, but Latin is his only real Earth language. He says a few things to Mikaela in Latin within the chapter, which can be roughly translated as: "Silly girl" and "You are not half as stupid as you look." Because he's totally a pep talker like that.

Major thanks to the reviewers of the last chapter! You guys blew me away with your amazing reviews! I don't know how I can ever thank you, but I hope you accept my undying love and adoration. Thank you so much to **abarai-san, renegadewriter8, Ciel, Flameshield, Kellie Witwicky, CNightJoy, FORD B Poiseninja, Phoenix51, Wolf-mask, femme4jack, StarscreamII, Midnight Marquis, TransformersLover95, Prime13, infinityinmirrors, EmberLady, Bahamut PURE**, and** Faecat**. You are all too wonderful for words.

Special thanks to **Faecat**, you happened to review every single chapter of this story in a single night. You are a star, my darling! My holidays are brighter thanks to you~!

**May We Never Let Go  
To Spoon**

Mikaela slowly eased back to consciousness with a mouth that felt gummy and sour, her mind fuzzy and slow. Just like the several other false waking starts, she was stuck in limbo for a few seconds wondering if she was awake or dreaming. She then realized how badly she had to go pee, and decided that she was awake. After deciding that simple fact, she took stock of her healing body. She wasn't in pain, which was nice. The catheter in her arm was stiff and noticeable as it dripped fluids into her veins. Her skin felt sensitive where raw blisters on her back and arms rubbed against medical gauze and her hospital gown.

Her ears perked as she registered sounds around her. Irritation pinched her when she realized that the stupid Mickey song was still playing. A moment later, her heart raced as it occurred to her that the _thing_ haunting her room might be back. She did not know for sure, because she had yet to open her eyes. A dark reluctance to do so halted her for all but a moment, until she reminded herself that she would rather know for sure that the monster was there rather than cower in the dark. Her eyes snapped open, hissing when bright light seared her retinas. She got the impression that there were people in her room. All of them appeared human.

"Oh my god, she's awake!" one of her visitors exclaimed, followed by the sound of a chair being flung back and pattering footsteps coming to the edge of the bed. "Honey, oh my gosh! How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? You want me to close the blinds?"

Mikaela could barely string together a proper sentence for the young woman, let alone open her stinging eyes to look up at her. Had the sun always been that bright? Or was it just because she had grown so used to darkness lately? The blinds promptly hissed down, creaking when the plastic slits were adjusted to block out as much light as possible. In a moment, the woman was back at the bedside, bracing two hands on the edge of the mattress.

"There, how's that? Not so bright anymore-." She was so close that Mikaela could smell her body spray, which was a sweet fruity scent that evoked images of sunny tropical islands.

"Miss Sumdac, please do not crowd her," warned a deep, resonating male's voice. It came from a short distance, as if standing at the far side of the room.

"Yeah, she might flip out again and do some of that crazy Exorcist shit," drawled a third presence, another female by the sounds of it, with an accent that was familiar but Mikaela could not quite place it. "If her head starts doing a three-sixty, I'm out of here."

"Some bodyguard you are," huffed the first woman. A gentle hand rested atop of Mikaela's ankle, warm through the thin cotton hospital sheet. "Your head isn't going to start spinning, is it? You don't look like you're possessed."

It was said in a sweet voice, meant to playfully tease, but a sick feeling roiled through Mikaela's stomach. She'd seen possessed people before. Not possessed humans, except for the ones in movies. She'd seen Cybertronians possessed on different occasions when the Fallen had taken over their frames. There had been no way to physically detect the possession... except for the optics, and their off-the-wall behaviour. The optics had always changed colour into a shade that was not quite yellow and not quite orange. A shade in between, the name of which evaded Mikaela's thoughts for the moment. Could she be possessed and not know it?

The red-headed woman drew her hand away, tucking it to her chest. "You're shaking."

Having not realized that her fear was showing so blatantly, Mikaela did her best to control the trembling of her body. Her eyes finally stopped tearing up from the sunlight assault. She swallowed hard and looked up, prepared for the worse. Would she see monsters everywhere? The nightmare creature with the shapeless dark body? Would she see her own reflection, only to discover a monster staring back at her? Her eyes cracked open and relief flooded her when nothing horrible happened. She found herself in the same hospital room she remember from the last time she had been conscious; the lights were dim, the blinds casting long streams of light across the floor. A young Indian woman stood by the end of her bed, her incongruously bright red hair made her an eye-catching sight, especially alongside the banana-yellow pantsuit and hot pink silk tie she was wearing.

"Hey there," said the woman the moment Mikaela made eye-contact. "You feeling okay?" When no answer came for several second, she pursed her lips. "Crap, maybe you don't speak English. I never thought of that..um... Bonjour? Hola? Namastē?"

"English," Mikaela managed to croak. Her voice sounded so rough that she hardly recognized it. "I speak English."

"Oh, good, okay. English is okay." A stray strand of cherry-red hair away from the young woman's eyes. "How are you feeling? Does anything hurt? Do you know where you are?"

"...no?"

She leaned over the mattress, her brown eyes wide. "How about water? You want water? You look like you could use some water."

"Slow down, Miss Sumdac. You don't want to overwhelm her," announced the same deep voice from before. It could only have belonged to a doctor, a good humoured one with the steady patience of a saint. Mikaela glanced up and confirmed her suspicions, seeing a man with a stethoscope hanging around his neck standing at the far end of the room. He was a massive man, easily over six feet tall, with smooth black velvet skin. He was possibly in his late forties, with a slight ponch over his belt. When he spoke, his teeth flashed like strips of glowing white under his full lips.

"Water," Mikaela breathed, clearing her throat. A second later, a cool glass was thrust into her hand. It took two and a half glasses before she felt completely refreshed... followed by an even greater need to use the loo. When her need for fluids was satisfied, she brought the glass down and wiped her lips against her wrist, noting that she was being closely watched by her company. "Sorry," she grunted.

"It's quite alright. You've been out for a while, so you should be thirsty," assured the doctor as he swept his way to the other side of the bed opposite of the red-haired woman. "If you're hungry too, something can be brought in for you."

Mikaela shrugged awkwardly. "I'm not hungry, I think." Her stomach roiled as if it were on the verge of throwing up. She doubted she could handle solid food.

"No pressure, Miss. Whenever you feel like you can handle food, a nurse will bring something." He extended his hand to her, palm up. "If you feel up to it, I would like to take your vitals to make sure you're doing alright."

Too many things to take in at once, Mikaela stared at the hand for several seconds, swallowing hard, and then glanced up at the handsome doctor. He did not wear a name tag, but his patient smile and kindly manner was comforting. She placed her hand in his, soaking up the warmth of his soft palm. Her tension must have been obvious, because the doctor did nothing but pat her hand. He had large, steady hands that strangely made her want to trust him.

"There is no need to worry," he said. "I am Dr. Annan. I have been taking care of you since these two brought you in." He gestured first to the red-haired Indian woman, who waved cheerfully, and then to the third stranger in the room – the one who had been accusing Mikaela of being possessed. She was a tall, thin woman who would have been very pretty if it were not for the many piercings glinting in her ears and on her face. Her dark almond-shaped eyes were circled liberally with black mascara and dark eyeshadow, while her short black hair was streaked with electric pink dye, gelled to stand up in every direction. She would have looked more at home in a punk rock concert than in a hospital.

The red-haired woman leaned in, biting her lip gently. "I'm Sari... um, Sari Sumdac." She gestured to the punk woman. "That's Miko Nakadai, my... personal assistant."

Mikaela nodded slowly, deciding that with a name like 'Miko Nakadai', the woman's accent must have been Japanese.

"Bodyguard." Miko frowned, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. "You shouldn't give her our names. What if she's a psycho or something? Or a terrorist. We don't even know where she-."

Sari tensed. "Miko, it's cool. Stop talking."

Surprisingly, the so-called bodyguard's lips snapped together.

Dr. Annan did not seemed bothered by the exchange, acting as if he heard nothing at all. Mikaela licked her lips nervously, eyes darting between the reassuring presence of the doctor to the two women giving off weird vibes. Weirdest vibes came from Miko, who looked like she regularly dangled people by their ankles over the sides of buildings to get answers to questions that no one should be asking.

Sari turned back to Mikaela, her smile a little strained this time. "Here's the thing - there was an accident. We brought you here after, well... you really looked like you needed a hospital. But you're getting better. You look tons better than you did when you first got here."

Mikaela breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. Dr. Annan was still holding her hand, keeping track of her pulse and tension levels... most likely in case she flipped out again. She did not remember being brought to the hospital. She tried to think of being involved in any kind of accident, but the only thing she could think of was Nemesis Prime and the fact that she was supposed to be dead. Common sense told her it was better not to say anything on those latter points. She was probably safer playing stupid.

"I don't... I don't remember," she groaned, one hand raking through her tangled hair.

"Great," Miko snorted. "She's psycho and amnesic."

Mikaela badly wanted to tell the woman to go fuck off. By some grace, she managed to keep her opinions to herself.

"Can you tell us your name?" Dr. Annan asked, drawing up a chair in order to sit comfortably by the bedside. "You don't want us calling you 'The Jane Doe' anymore, do you?"

Mikaela frowned, thinking for a moment. "Mikaela."

"And does 'Mikaela' have a last name?" Dr. Annan wondered.

"Banes," she mumbled.

"Well, Mikaela Banes, you are in good hands. Do not worry about the details of how you got here, they will come to you soon enough. Accidents tend to mix up the brain sometimes, but after a few days everything settles back to normal." Dr. Annan quickly went about checking her vitals. He looked in her eyes, her ears, took her blood pressure, tested her reflexes, and checked each of her wounds. He was gentle as he did so, speaking lowly about everything he was doing so Mikaela was not surprised by any of his movements.

At one point, a few tears leaked out of the corner of Mikaela's eyes. Dr. Annan quickly asked if she was in pain, and Mikaela assured him that she wasn't. She wasn't in any kind of pain he could help her with. Her _heart_ hurt. With every moment that her head cleared, she thought of Hound and Chase and Sam and _everyone_. Was Hound okay? What was Chase thinking right now? What were the rest of her friends and family doing? The mere thought of them holding a funeral service for her while she was still alive made her want to throw up. It scared her that she didn't remember how she got to this hospital. Her tears were mostly of confusion and heartache, fear and loneliness.

During the medical checkup, the red-haired woman remained attentive. _Sari_. Mikaela kept having to remind herself that the woman's name was Sari...Sumdac. Right, Sari Sumdac. Exotic, but an oddly familiar name. Sari didn't speak while the doctor worked, but she did drag her chair over to be able to sit by the end of the bed. She smiled the whole time, except for the few moments when Mikaela cried. She propped her elbows on the ledge of the mattress and settled her chin atop her folded hands, waiting patiently.

The second woman, Miko, eventually came over to lean against the wall near the bed, her attention firmly focused on the iPhone in her hands. A cold wash of dread went through Mikaela when she spotted several concealed weapons hiding on the so-called 'personal assistant/bodyguard's' person. A knife appeared to be tucked into the brim of her boot, while a small taser was tucked into the other. There was the flash of a shoulder holster under her leather jacket. The hilts of some sort of weapons were tucked up her sleeves. Whoever Miko Nakadai was supposed to be, she was packing some serious heat.

As soon as Dr. Annan was finished checking her over, he looked up with warm, dark eyes. "You are healing nicely, Miss Banes. No inflammation, infection, or complications that I can see as of yet. Consider yourself lucky," he said. "You look much better than I expected for someone who was hit by a car."

She jumped, her skin prickling. "A car?"

Dr. Annan's eyebrows arched. "Yes, a car. You do not recall the accident?"

Mikaela felt her cheeks flush warmly. "No..."

The doctor said nothing, but he did happen to scribble a few more notes on his clipboard.

Mikaela's head snapped around when she felt a light tapping on her hand.

"Um, yes, that accident I was talking about..." Sari stammered, leaning back to stare at her lap. "You see...she was driving!" Her pointed finger swung around to target her bodyguard, who immediately jerked away from the wall.

"You did not just throw me under the bus like that!" Miko exclaimed.

"But it's true! You were driving!"

"You didn't need to _tell_ her that!"

"_Ladies,"_ Dr. Annan intoned gravely.

"I was... hit by a car?" Mikaela stared down at her hands, and then up at the two women who had presumably hit her. Miko at least had the decency to look reluctantly guilty. Movement of the corner of her eye had Mikaela jerking her head around just in time to spot a dark head dart back behind the doorway of the bathroom. She went rigid. The monster was back. Screw getting hit by a car; she was being haunted by a demon.

"Regardless of who or what brought you here, you are healing nicely. That is what counts." Dr. Annan noticed her diverted attention, frowning. He scribbled another note on the clipboard. "So, Miss Banes," he began carefully, "are you taking any medications that I should know about?"

"You're asking me if I'm crazy," Mikaela sighed. There was a long enough silence following the statement that it was basically a 'yes'. She shook her head. "I'm not crazy."

"That's exactly what a crazy person would say," Miko snorted.

"Miss Nakadai, you are not helping," Dr. Annan warned. Miko huffed, squeezing herself into the corner to avoid the doctor's heavy stare.

Mikaela wanted to smirk at the other woman. _Bitch_. "I don't take medication for anything. I'm not an escaped patient from anywhere – you can go check with whatever psyche wards and halfway houses are around here."

"I will," Dr. Annan replied, completely without accusation or pressure. He wasn't judging her.

Mikaela nodded. "I remember having a few freak outs here... I swear, nothing like that has ever happened before. I think I might be reacting badly to whatever painkillers you're giving me. Bad hallucinations or something." She forced herself not to stare at the doorway of the bathroom, which continued to host a head peeking in and out of it. The head looked different every time it appeared. Nonetheless, it was always grotesque. No one else noticed it, so Mikaela pretended she couldn't see it either.

"That is a possibility," Dr. Annan said, tapping his chin with his pen. "If it is alright with you, I would like to keep you under observation for the next 24 hours to make sure you do not have another episode. If your pain is manageable, I will switch your medication to a non-narcotic analgesic that will not give you hallucinations."

"Thank you."

He smiled and patted her hand. "Now, is there anyone I can contact for you? A friend or some family? No one should have to be alone in the hospital."

Mikaela's mild smile froze, slowly melting into something less pleasant. All her friends and family thought she was dead. It didn't seem like a good idea to have some random doctor calling them up out of the blue to announce otherwise. What if Nemesis Prime somehow intercepted the message and came back to finish the job? She shuddered at the thought. Until she figured out what to do, she was going to have to play her cards close to the vest.

"No friends," she croaked miserably. "No family."

His smile turned sad. "I see... Is there no one for me to contact for you?"

"No," she breathed. Her chest pinched tight around her heart.

The dark head emerged from the doorway again, this time the rest of its body followed with it. Once again, it was a shapeless thing that escaped description, and yet somehow embodied every nightmare that had ever existed. Fangs and claws mixed in with gears and cogs. Flashes of metal armour swathed in a black gaseous veil. Flames licked the floor where it touched, gliding along on treads, feet, a jointed snake-like protrusion... always changing shape. Never the same thing twice. It waved to Mikaela with too many hands, not enough arms to support them all.

No one but Mikaela saw it. She swallowed her tongue to keep from screaming.

Dr. Annan sighed, tucking his pen away and setting the clipboard down. "I will be back in a couple of hours to check on you. If you need anything, that call button will bring a nurse here." He pointed to the little remote sitting on the stand next to the bed. He then focused on the two other women in the room. "You two may stay for only a few minutes. Try not to overwhelm her, do not upset her, and do not cause any trouble." The last comment was directed solely toward Miko.

"We'll be good," Sari promised earnestly.

As the doctor walked from the room, he brushed past the invisible nightmare. It danced excitedly to have someone within range, and then extended a single claw-like appendage in what appeared to be a threatening manner.

"Don't!" Mikaela yelped, jerking violently.

Dr. Annan froze mid-step, while the monster turned to face her with a laughing expression. It grinned, all two dozen of its random mouths stretched across its bizarre body. Each open gnash hosted rows and rows of serrated metal teeth shaped like dinner knives.

"_S__tulta puella_," it said with a laugh.

"Don't what?" asked the doctor.

"Don't... um... don't worry about them causing trouble," Mikaela mumbled, shrinking back into the mattress. "I can take care of myself."

"I'm sure you can." He offered a smile and was gone.

The monster remained, chuckling, clapping its hands to mockingly congratulate her on covering her slip up. "_Non vides quam stultus dimidio_."

Mikaela stared back at the thing, her jaw twitching with the intensity that she was clenching the muscles. The urge to scream was strong. The urge to throw up was stronger.

A tanned hand waved in her face. "Honey?"

"Yeah," Mikaela coughed, jerking sharply. She dragged her gaze away to focus on the two human women standing to her right. Sari eased back in her seat and fidgeted with her yellow suit top.

"First of all, I have to say this: sorry for hitting you with a car." She cringed. "Technically, it was an SUV, but you get the point. Oh, and it was Miko who really _hit_ you, but still... sorry."

"I get the point. I accept your apology." What else was she supposed to say? She looked to Miko, only to have the other woman staunchly avoid making eye-contact. Okay, fine. Mikaela could play the same game. She focused her sights on Sari. "This might seem like an extremely stupid question, but where am I?"

"Considering how we found you, your question isn't all that crazy. I'm not surprised you don't know where you are," Sari said with a half-shrug. "You're in Detroit, Michigan in the Henry Ford Hospital."

Mikaela blinked at her warily.

Sari interpreted the stare as a lack of recognition. "You know, in the United States of _America_? Or maybe you wouldn't know that. Did you teleport in from outside the United States-?"

Miko's patience suddenly ran out, along with her ability to play nice. She wrenched herself away from the wall and slammed her hands onto the mattress with such force that the whole bed frame shivered.

"_Who are you working for!" _

Mikaela recoiled, yanking the sheets up as if they would protect her. "What? Working-? I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Liar!" Her hands smacked the mattress again for emphasis. "You don't just come out of nowhere like that and say you're working for no one!" She was leaning too far across the mattress. Mikaela was forced to back away lest their noses touch. "Who is it? Russia? China? North Korea? Everyone knows they're working on teleportation technology."

Sari grabbed her associate by the arm and yanked her away. "Miko, calm down! You're scaring her!"

"Scaring her? She might be a spy!"

"We'll never know if you give her a heart-attack!" Sari yelled. "Just shut up and let me do the talking!"

After a brief struggle, Miko took a deep breath and stood back. She nailed Mikaela with a dark glare. "I'm watching you," she growled.

"You're not the only one." Mikaela slid her gaze to the monster still in the room, who continued to watch the scene with keen interest. Amusement radiated from the creature.

Sari cleared her throat, carefully laying her hand to Mikaela's. Mikaela jerked her hand away, tucking it close to her chest. A flicker of hurt appeared on the red-head's face, but she covered it up with a quick, weak smile.

"We got off on the wrong foot," she said. "All I want to do is get to the bottom of this. What company are you working for, how advanced the technology is- those kinds of basics. Is this alien technology we're dealing with?" She paused, tapping her chin. "Cybertronian tech is the most advanced stuff on the planet currently. I bet we're dealing with the Cybertronians, aren't we?"

"They can't teleport, as far as I know," Mikaela mumbled before she could stop herself.

Sari raised both eyebrows. "How would you know?"

"I just do," she replied mulishly. "I'm a bit of a...fan-girl of them. Giant alien robots and all, that's pretty cool." It was a lame answer. She turned her head away, drawing her knees up to rest her cheek on her kneecaps. A change of subject was in order. "Did I really come out of nowhere?"

"Yes. You don't know that you teleported?"

Mikaela shook her head.

"That changes things," Sari sighed, shaking her head. "A couple of days ago, Miko and I were out on a pizza run. Before we even got to the place, this giant black cloud suddenly appeared in the middle of the road. The roads are really slick this time of year... Miko hit the brakes and we lost control. We heard you hit the front as we went through the cloud. By the time we stopped skidding and got out, the cloud was gone and you were laying in the middle of the street looking like... well, like you were just hit by a car." Sari rubbed her hands together like she was trying to warm them.

"I've never been hit by a car before," Mikaela mumbled numbly.

"I've never seen anyone teleport anywhere before," Sari riposted. "The reason I'm so curious is because my father owns a cybernetics company. He's been working on teleportation technology for years, but it's never gone beyond the theoretical stages. We're nowhere near doing live experimentation yet. If there's another company out there who's beating us to the punch..."

"Right, I get it." She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. "So you really think I teleported here?" If her life didn't already involve giant alien robots and an assortment of other strange creatures on a regular basis, she probably would be a lot more freaked out than she currently was.

Sari was all seriousness when she said, "Yes, I really think you teleported here. You're lucky the street you came in on was basically deserted. If you appeared in the middle of the downtown, your face would be all over the news by now."

It was impossible to hide the grimace that came from the thought of that possible experience. "Thanks for hiding me."

"No problem." Sari offered a small smile, again tucking her hair behind her ear. "If I handed you over to the media, I might have lost my chance to find out what the competition is dealing in. But now I'm starting to think you don't have anything to do with foreign governments or tech companies. If you were, someone probably would have come for you by now, right?"

"Right."

"So you got mixed up in this by accident somehow."

"Seems like it."

Sari chuckled quietly. "I kind of feel cheated that you're not a test pilot working for the competition that I could coax top secret information out of, but being an innocent civilian is cool in my books."

"Now if only you could convince _her_ of that," Mikaela drawled, nodding to Miko. The punk chick continued to glare, enhanced by the circles of darkness surrounding her eyes.

"Don't mind Miko. Once you get to know her, she's... less intense." Sari patted Mikaela's hand. "We're going to figure this out, okay? You're safe with us."

The words were oddly reassuring, making Mikaela want to smile. Her lips froze halfway. She literally felt her brain click as a certain thought fell into place. "Wait... you said your father owns a cybernetic company?"

Sari hesitated, and then nodded. "Yes, Sumdac Cybernetic Industries."

"And we're in Detroit?"

"That's what I said- Detroit, Michigan."

"Oh my god!" Finally, Mikaela remembered _something_.

Miko reacted to the exclamation immediately, wrenching Sari behind her protectively. The hilt that glinted up her sleeve revealed itself to be the hilt of a retractable energy-blade weapon. Not as impressive or stable as the energon-based weapons Mikaela was used to, but no doubt it could do damage if plied for it. Mikaela paid no mind to the threat, instead pointing at the red-haired woman in shock.

"You! You're Sari Sumdac!" she gasped, making the exclamation sound important rather than shouting the obvious. "You're the one who spilled wine on Miles at that benefit party a year ago!"

Sari blinked dumbly, followed by her jaw dropping and a blush staining her cheeks. "How did you know that!"

"I know Miles. He's a friend of mine." Mikaela flailed for a second, stopping when she felt the catheter jerking under her skin. It took a great effort to calm herself. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears like the beat of hummingbird wings. "But _you_! You're the daughter of Isaac Sumdac! Sumdac Industries!" She gestured sharply with her hands. "I can't believe you hit me with a car!"

Sari pushed out from behind her bodyguard, her mouth still agog. She gaped for another second, and then said, "I'm paying the hospital bills, so you're welcome." She looked panicked. "Does Miles still talk about the wine thing?"

"He's convinced that your company is now his mortal enemy."

"No!" Sari let out an agonized whine. "This is so embarrassing!"

Miko made a noise of disgust, her weapon stashed back up her sleeve. "I'm not paid enough for this," she grumbled, deciding that Mikaela was not enough of a threat anymore to require close-quarters monitoring. She dragged a chair over and sat at the end of the bed. Her phone came out so she could entertain herself with a game of Angry Birds.

"Wait! Wait, wait, wait!" Sari held her hands up, her eyes as wide as saucers. "You're a friend of Miles Lancaster? As in the Public Relations guy for the Autobots."

Mikaela nodded quickly, leaning toward the other woman. "I've known him since high school. He's a bit of a dork."

"Right. No. I mean- this is important, Mikaela." She jumped excitedly in her seat, whipping out her smartphone and immediately zipping onto the internet. "This is you, isn't it? You're Ambassador Witwicky's girlfriend. Mikaela Banes." She flipped the phone around so Mikaela could see a picture of herself staring back at her from the screen. The picture looked a lot better than her current rumpled, unwashed situation. It appeared to be taken from one of her rare public appearances with Sam.

"Yeah, that's me," she admitted.

Sam was a well known figure around the planet, being that he was one of the first and youngest ambassadors between Earth and an entire race of alien robot refugees living on the planet. Mikaela, on the other hand, was just the obscure mechanic girlfriend who mysteriously lived in the middle of the desert near the Earth Defence Command base. She preferred the anonymity.

Miko cursed. "I hit an ambassador's girlfriend? This sucks! I'm going to get shipped back to Japan!"

"No doubt to rejoin the Yakuza," Mikaela retorted.

"That's none of your business," Miko sniffed, turning her nose into the air.

Sari rolled her eyes. "I can tell you two are going to be the best of friends." She made a move to tuck her phone away, only to have attracted the monster's attention. It had slunk over silently and had previously been peering over Sari's shoulder with interest. Now it was reaching out a long, spindly finger-like appendage. Mikaela felt hot and cold rush through her, flesh prickling out of fear. Her throat closed up, unable to say anything.

The dark appendage sunk into the phone. A moment later, the device let out a piercing wail that cracked the glass of everything in the near vicinity. All three humans recoiled viciously, hands over their ears. Sari threw her phone across the room as if electrocuted. Plastic pieces flew everywhere.

"_Ah, much better," _said the monster, brushing himself off daintily. Mikaela nearly squealed when she realized it now spoke English. _"Should have done that ages ago." _

Miko ripped her hands away from her ears. "What the hell was that?"

Sari looked shaken, her face pale. "Dad must have messed with my phone again." She offered Mikaela a withered smile. "Sorry, my dad sometimes he gets carried away when he tinkers with things. He means well."

Mikaela swallowed the hard lump in her throat. "It's okay." She wasn't about to say anything about the real reason the phone decided to self-destruct.

It took a moment for everyone's heart rates to go back to normal.

"What were we talking about before?" Sari smoothed more errant hair away from her eyes.

"You're the daughter of one of the leading cybernetic application designers in the country, and I'm the girlfriend of one of the ambassadors between Earth and the Cybertronians. This is somehow good news, or a really convenient coincidence. Maybe both, maybe not." Mikaela twined her fingers together so tightly that her knuckles cracked. She did her best not to let her eyes wander the nightmare haunting the room.

"_Ignore me all you want, I'm not going away,"_ it told her, stubbornly plopping itself into the chair on the left side of the bed. _"We're going to have a little talk, you and me." _

Sari heard nothing of the nightmare's grumblings. She pursed her lips, furrowing her brow. "Mikaela, you told Dr. Annan you didn't have any family or friends."

"Yeah, I did." Her eyes stayed on the sheets covering her feet.

"Why?"

"Because..." She squeezed her eyelids together tightly. "They think I'm dead." Her stomach tightened at the reminder. Everyone she loved thought she was dead. Most of them had watched her die. It was harder to say it out loud than to think it. Saying it with words made it _real_.

Sari and Miko bolted straight. Clearly, they had not been expecting such an answer.

Mikaela hugged herself weakly. "They can't know that I'm alive... not yet. I have to get back to them first. There's someone out there who, if he finds out I'm still alive, he'll make sure I'm _really_ dead this time."

Sari covered her mouth with her hand, her wide eyes darting to Miko. "You're in a lot of trouble, aren't you?" she asked softly.

"You could say that," Mikaela admitted. "The guy who tried to kill me was using me to get to Sam. He's a whole lot of bad news."

"Oh my god, that's horrible!" Sari exclaimed. She was wringing her hands now, the colour in her face draining away. "Do you think the one who's threatening you might have been the one to teleport you? If he tried to kill you with new technology, maybe it accidentally dematerialized you instead. You reconstituted here."

"That... I don't know, maybe. That could be it," Mikaela murmured quietly, pondering the possibility. What if... what if it was _Hound_ who purposely transported her? He had never discussed the full capabilities of his shoulder mount before: it had holographic and photonic-blast capabilities. What if there was more to it? A brief warmth swelled in her chest. Maybe at the last second, Hound had managed to _save_ her.

"Honey, you okay?" Sari asked worriedly. "You got a strange look on your face."

Mikaela swiped the corners of her eyes free of the tears that started to leak out. "I'm fine. Just thinking of how I got here."

Sari wilted out of sympathy. "Sweetie, everything is going to be alright. You'll see."

Miko suddenly popped to her feet, hands on her hips. She looked determined. "That settles it, then."

Mikaela eyed the woman warily. "Settles what?"

A finger tipped in black nail polish pointed straight at her. "You're not crazy and you're not a terrorist, so we're going to help you get home. Right Sari?"

Sari nodded. "Right. That's going to be our mission." She smiled, reaching over to take Mikaela's hands and squeeze them tight. "You just got yourself two very powerful friends. As soon as Dr. Annan says its safe for you to leave the hospital, we're going to make sure you get home. Whoever is trying to kill you won't be able to lay a finger on you. You'll be safe with us, I promise."

"Even with her?" Mikaela asked, nodding to Miko.

"Girl, there are Yakuza back home who shake in their boots every time they hear my name." Miko's exaggerated wink made Mikaela laugh quietly. "Sari pays me enough to kick ass for the both of you." When she smiled, all her facial piercings glittered. "Out of all the people in this city who could have hit you, we're the best people to have done it."

Mikaela nodded, strangely cheered by that fact.

Sari squeezed Mikaela's hands again. "Miko's right. You have us now. We're not going to let you down."

Tears of joy and relief started pricking at her eyes. "Thank you."

"You are so very welcome." Sari got to her feet and straightened her pantsuit. "We have to go now, but we'll be back tomorrow. You're going to be home before you know it. Everything is going to be okay."

"See you around, roadkill," Miko said, saluting loosely as she followed her employer out the door.

Mikaela found herself left alone in her small hospital room with a creature she had no words for. She smiled for only a second after the door closed, revelling in the fact that two women she had only met mere minutes before were willing to help her, despite the crazy circumstances of their first meeting. There weren't enough people like that in the world – good, honest people who helped others because it was the right thing to do. Too many people were scared of sticking their neck out like that. Mikaela tried to believe in God most days, and maybe the fact that she ended up with two good people willing to help her was evidence that maybe there was someone up there looking after her.

A subtle cough designed to get her attention reminded her that whatever god was looking after her, he or she must have had a really shitty sense of humour to land her with her current company.

As she turned to face her fate, Mikaela was stunned to find that her bedside was no longer haunted by a horrible creature. It had shape-shifted into a vision that was far less terrifying than its previous form, but no less heartbreaking to gaze upon.

"I think I know what my problem was before," it said through a mouth that Mikaela had vivid memories of. "You humans don't have very strong minds, do you? Even less than even my Cybertronians." A finger was wagged in admonition. "I've noticed that anything outside of your paradigms is impossible for you to comprehend with any kind of grace. I like that about your kind- it makes you irrational and violent and disgustingly ignorant. Sadly, it's been working against me with you. This is better, isn't it?" Arms spread wide, displaying a shape Mikaela knew too well. "You can understand this form, can't you?"

It was _Sam_.

It was her precious Sam, except all the details were wrong. The skin was an awful grey colour, like corpse skin and storm clouds. The hair and lips and fingertips were stained blacker than night. When it spoke, it revealed a tongue just as black in a dark pit of a mouth with too-sharp teeth lining it. His piercing gaze glowed unnaturally in the low light; the yellow-orange colour of dying sunsets. _Amber_. That was what the colour was called. Deep gouges scored the skin in terrible patterns, whirling and curving with minds of their own. A sinister red light within the gaping chasms pulsed in time to the beat of a phantom heartbeat. There were no clothes to disguise the too-sharp wounds which covered every inch of the body. They looked to have been carved by an instrument of unearthly sharpness, scored away from the inside.

No matter how horrible the aberration was, it was still Sam's face. Sam's body.

Amber eyes blinked in a slow, sensuous movement. The light was hypnotic to behold, causing a tug in Mikaela's chest that drew her into the glow. A moth to a flame. A mouse trapped in a viper's stare.

"Ah, my pet. You like what you see?" anti-Sam breathed, inviting her in for a closer look. The voice was wrong. It was reedy, oily, with a side of slime.

Mikaela's hand flew to her mouth as she wretched. She found her body moving of its own accord, leaping from the opposite side of the bed to be away from the spectre. Adrenaline gave her strength when she knew she shouldn't have been strong enough to handle her own weight. Blistered bare feet carried her across the floor, her IV stand jerking behind her on creaky wheels. She wheeled into the dark space of the nearby bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her. Groping the wall, flicking on the light, there was only enough time to make a panicked, strangled noise before she puked into the open toilet bowl.

It was mostly water that came up, since she had nothing else to puke. The wet slopping noise of the bile was too loud in the small space. On her knees, with the cold tile biting into her flesh and bone, Mikaela hugged the toilet like a lifeline. Never had she been so drunk as to love a toilet so much, but her fear gave her the need to clutch something. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she could not scream. Not now. She did not dare alert anyone, lest they come rushing to her aid and label her as crazy as she was on the verge of declaring herself.

Her forehead was hot and clammy as it flopped onto her outstretched arm. She cried, because she had nothing else better to do.

The Fallen remained sitting in the chair he had been left in, both enjoying the acrid taste of fear, confusion, vomit in the air, while supremely confused over what he had done to frighten the human so badly. For the duration of Mikaela's stay in this modern facility of human horrors, Psi had pondered up and down, backwards and forwards, as well as inside and out and in the shade of mauve, what he had been doing wrong. ...more wrong than he usually was doing, seeing as he was an evil dark god given to fits of wrong-doing when the fancy struck him. But here he was, actually trying to do some good, making an effort to be comprehensible no matter how much it hurt, and she wasn't willing to meet him halfway.

That's what you called _unreasonable._

Upon Mikaela's arrival to this place that humans called a 'hospital', he had tried for several whole hours to maintain a single spectral form that, in the event of the human's awakening, would be a form she could comprehend with little trouble. Mikaela had not awoken within the limitation of a few hours, and Psi's need for chaos, impudence, boundless trouble had overpowered his reluctant duty to his new ward. He possessed enough sense to recognize he could not bring harm to her, so he inflicted his whims on his surroundings. Classic demonic activity that had made him nostalgic for the good old orns when he had been powerful and there had been none but Unicron to tell him what to do.

When Mikaela did come awake the first few times, Psi had tried very hard to formulate shapes that would be familiar to her. Each of his efforts had been in vain. Had he a spark to hurt, it would have been very injured by Mikaela's screaming, flailing, and purging. As it were, he had no spark, but did find he was rather annoyed with the whole thing.

He'd given up on playing nice until now, and it seemed even when he tried to apply a human guise to himself there was no pleasing the little puss ball.

With a put-upon sigh, he rose from his seat and glided across the floor. Even from across the room, he could hear the female crying. It was a noise Psi had come to love during his stay on Earth. The noises humans made when in the depths of sorrow made no sense at all; there were no words, no proper sounds. It was chaotic wailing coupled with the disfigurement of the face through blotchy pink skin and puffy red eyes, mucus dripping from their noses and salt water crusting around their eyes. It was better than Cybertronians sobbing, because they only made noise without the fun of making them ugly too.

For several seconds, he stood on the other side of the door and listened to his ward wail. She was sick again, gurgling into the toilet. Her battered emotions radiated through the plaster of the walls, through the metal of the door, washing over Psi like a dark tide. It was a sweet balm against his senses. The darkest part of his nature wished to stir the blackness in her soul and drink the poison that festered. But it was a draught that he could not enjoy, no matter how badly he desired to. There were plans afoot that needed completing.

He lifted a fist and marvelled at the shape. The form had been a last ditch effort to _not_ inspire the same insane reactions which his previous attempts had brought. When he had transformed, he had not known exactly what he would become – only that it would be a form his new pet was intimately acquainted with. He needed to have words with her, and it certainly did not help when she was screaming and/or purging like a creature possessed. He was obviously human, though the image did not look quite right to him. He could not put his claw on _why_. No matter. He knocked on the door.

Mikaela felt every muscle in her body contract at the sound of knuckles on the door.

"My pet?" called not-Sam. "I think it's time we had a few words out here."

"Go away!" she yelled back, hoping no nurse heard her through the walls.

"Well, I suppose I could, but that defeats the whole purpose of me being here." Through the solid door, the phantom's head appeared, still as the twisted vision of Sam. It cast its amber gaze around, discovered her on the floor, and smiled until the edges of its lips touched the jutting of its ears. "You can't possibly be comfortable down there."

"I said go away!" Mikaela howled, as if embodiments of evil were likely to listen to her.

"Awww, don't be like that, my little dirt urchin. I'm just trying to help." The way he said it, he might as well have said "_I'm just trying to help remove your flesh from your bones to sew myself a fancy frock,_" or "_I'm just trying to help suck your immortal soul out and devour it for a noontime snack._" There was nothing about her bizarre company that inspired a faith to make her believe he was going to help her off the floor.

To her horror, he stepped the rest of the way into the small room and crouched. Its naked form looked even more deformed as the open gouges stretched and pinched across the flesh. His hands were nearly touching her skin before Mikaela lashed out. Her foot connected with the center of the chest, sending the demon sprawling backwards. She flew to her feet and whipped open the door, slamming the demon into the wall behind it. She was halfway across her hospital room when she stopped, ripping her catheter out along the way so her IV stand no longer weighed her down. The hot sting of the needle and the warm rush of her blood down her arm made her feel alive. Ready to the fight for her life. She faced the open bathroom and waited for her adversary to come at her.

Time stretched on forever as the Fallen picked himself up and brushed himself off, laughing as he did so. Truth be told, it had been a very long time since anyone had kicked him. Or slapped him with a door. He had forgotten how strange the sensation was.

"Is that any way to treat the devil that saved your life?" he wondered, coming toward the girl even as she endeavoured to stand her ground before him. Her knees were shaking. Psi shivered as a tide of the sweet chaotic state of her mind washed over him.

Mikaela's stomach bottomed out. "You liar!"

"Liar? Of course. About this? Not at all."

Her hand swung out. Psi did not feel like giving her a free shot again. Her wrist was firmly shackled in his fist before she made contact. He laughed at her as she continued to struggle. The flesh of her arms prickled. Where he touched, a dark bruise bloomed. Her eyes went wild like an animal's; now she struggled to get away. With a thought, he turned intangible. Her wrist slashed through his fist, and then through his head. A gaseous veil erupted in place of his spectral body, a stench rising from the mess so thick it burned Mikaela's nostrils and seared down her throat.

"If I had a physical body, that might have hurt," Psi said as his head reformed.

Mikaela scrambled backward on legs that had turned to jelly. "What the hell are you?"

"I'd say your worst nightmare, but that's a tad tacky don't you think?" He advanced on her again, a relentless prowl that backed her into the bed with the corner digging sharply into her spine. Psi braced his hands on either side of her, surveying the creature that was more precious to his future plans than any other substance on the planet. She was his bargaining chip. A little pawn who was too valuable to throw away just yet.

Mikaela's heart was beating so harshly that it had started to burn like hot coals in her chest. Or perhaps that was the lack of oxygen causing her chest to burn, seeing as her lungs now refused to work. She could feel those glowing eyes on her, travelling from her toes up over her body back to her eyes. There was something very possessive about that gaze, violating everything it saw. Their gazes clashed again, and this time Mikaela was so close to the amber glow that she could not look away. A frigid coldness permeated her body. Every drop of warmth she had ever experienced drained away. The only thing left were those eyes. It occurred to her that she had seen that colour before.

"_Fallen."_ The name left her lips before she consciously bid herself to speak.

"You know me, my pet." Those eyes blinked, releasing Mikaela from their thrall. "My reputation precedes me."

"It's not a good reputation."

"I'd be insulted if it was."

Mikaela shut her eyes tight and turned her head to the side. She could not bare the sight of the Fallen masquerading as Sam any longer. "Why are you doing this?" she pleaded. The touch of a cold fingertip travelled from the top of her throat down to where the collar of her hospital gown shielded the rest of her.

"I need you." Foul breath fanned across her flesh.

Her thighs automatically clamped together.

Psi's head flung back as he cackled. "Oh, that's rich. Even if I could do _that_, it certainly wouldn't be with you!" His hands disappeared from around her. "Isn't that just like a human! I've watched your silly media, female. Your kind thinks its a good idea to stick your genitalia in any alien that comes along. Sorry to tell you the rest of the universe doesn't think the same." From his retreat several paces away, he looked her up and down, and then made a face. "_Ew._"

Mikaela backed her way along the side of the bed until she could press her spine against the solid surface of the wall. "Then what do you need me for? I'm just a human."

"You are _my precious_," hissed the Fallen, hunched over and rubbing his hands together.

"Get real," she spat at him. If she wasn't so terrified, she would have been happy to punch him in the face.

"Nobody has a sense of humour anymore." Psi straightened back up, disappointed not to have gotten a laugh. "In truth? You're the only way I can convince the Allspark and the Cybertronians that I need their..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely in the air.

Mikaela's eyes narrowed into a dangerous glare. "Need their what?"

"Assistance," mumbled the dark god.

"You mean _help_," she sneered.

"If that's what you want to call it," he sniffed petulantly. "You should really sit down, my pet. I've been meaning to talk to you for days." A flick of his hand made the chair at the bedside slide toward her. "Sit."

Mikaela turned her nose up at the offer. "How do I know you won't set the chair on fire the moment I sit in it?"

"I need you too badly at the moment. The worst I'll do is set a whoopee cushion under you."

Mikaela took the high road, stepping around the chair to huddle up on her rumpled hospital bed. The sheets were thin and cold, but it made her feel better to be somewhat higher up from the Fallen.

Psi drew up the chair he had been sitting in previously and perched himself in it again. He drummed his fingers on the hard armrests, staring at his prize while she stared back at him.

"I've never let a human see me before," the Fallen bemusedly observed. "Never on purpose, anyways. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever talked to one either. Whispered in a few ears once or twice, but it's not like they even knew I was there."

He sounded oddly conversational, which was off-putting to Mikaela. She brought her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. The crux of her right elbow stung, reminding her that she had ripped a catheter out of her vein there. The small hole was red and crusted with blood.

Psi noticed her distraction. "If I were an Earth god, I could fix that for you," he said. "Doubt you'd want me to try now. I'd probably give you a flesh eating disease."

"It'll heal on its own," Mikaela assured, her tone tight. It took everything she had to be civil to the demon. Her brain was a whirlwind as it tried to process the impossibility of her current situation. She was sitting in a hospital room with one of the most feared mythological beings in Cybertronian history. A being of unimaginable godlike power whose sole purpose was to create pain and strife in the universe. The creature who had held Earth at his mercy while he terrorized the Autobots and attacked power stations. A soulless beast who existed to do the biding of an even more terrible planet-devouring demon-god. Every time Mikaela attempted to get her brain to accept that she was trapped in a small room with such a creature, a migraine started up between her eyes.

"What are you doing here?" she asked warily, pinching the bridge between her eyes between two fingers.

He gave her a look that clearly said she was stupid. "I told you, I need you."

"But _why_?"

A frown made his features even more grotesque. "The _Others_ on this planet have charged me with the destruction of Nemesis Prime. My powers are on a limited scale right now, not enough to deal with what Nemesis is. That requires some extra _oomph_, if you catch my drift."

"You need the Allspark," Mikaela murmured. He needed Sam, and he intended to get to him through her. The mere thought made her heart twist.

"Yes, I need the Allspark," the Fallen confirmed. "It is an extremely powerful artifact, my pet. There is no equal in all the known universe. With it, Nemesis Prime can be destroyed." He leaned in, eyes bright. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? After what he did to you, you could have your revenge by making him cease to exist. With the Allspark, even _Others_ can be destroyed."

She shivered, suddenly cold. "_Others?_"

"Gods, spirits, demons, and devils. Heroes, shadows, ideas, and dreams. Whatever your imagination can think of," replied the Fallen, maintaining his conversational tone. Beyond the fact that this was his first time talking to a human one-on-one, and it was Mikaela's first time dealing with a powerful alien Chaos god, they were both doing relatively well. "All the things that exist in the world that you feel but do not see." He moved his hand, causing a gentle breeze as cold as arctic air to pass over Mikaela's face. "We are everything that mortals are not, and so we are _Others_."

"The ones I saw in the desert..."

"Those were _Others,_ yes. The Egyptian pantheon." He suddenly laughed, causing Mikaela to jump. "Oh, I got one over on them so bad, I bet they're still cursing me. They all thought you were dead as dust after that blast hit. None of them saw me snatch you up. It was awfully clever of me, if I do say so myself. Not even Nemesis Prime saw through the illusion."

"It was you?" Mikaela blurted incredulously. "_You_ saved me?"

Psi drew back, insulted. "Who else would it be?"

"You're supposed to be evil! You don't save people."

"I am evil!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms up emphatically. "I'm just going through a rough spot right now, okay? Everyone has them. I need you for my nefarious plans!"

Mikaela's head fell back against the wall behind her. "This doesn't make any sense."

"_Hello_, Guardian of Entropy." He pointed to himself. "Of course things don't make sense. Get used to it."

She curled her left arm over her eyes. "If you're supposed to be so evil, why would the Earth _Others_ tell you to destroy Nemesis Prime? And if you needed the Allspark's power, why didn't you just kidnap me before and hold me ransom like Nemesis did? And you're a Cybertronian god- why the hell don't you look like a robot?"

"Okay, one, that's so racist. Just because I come from a planet of robotic lifeforms doesn't mean I have to look like a robot. I could look like one if I wanted, but I was trying to look like something you would be familiar with. You know, to help with this whole thing." The Fallen turned his nose up haughtily. "And_ two_ - Evil or not, the _Others_ consider Nemesis to be my mess and they expect me to clean it up. If it had been possible, I would have taken you long ago as a bargaining chip, but there are rules, you see?"

"There are_ rules?"_

"Of course there are rules. Don't be stupid," Psi snapped. "I am an outsider to this world; I cannot touch the humans here without retribution. It was not until I saved you and bargained the worth of your life that I was was allowed to touch you." One long grey finger reached out and poked her in the arm. "See? I'm touching you. You belong to me now."

Mikaela recoiled from his touch. "What if I don't want to belong to you?"

"Too late," Psi laughed. "The deal's been made. You're stuck with me until I can assure the Allspark's cooperation. And believe me, your side _needs_ me."

"Do tell, because I'm just dying to know," Mikaela sneered.

"Nemesis is a creature of unimaginable power, my pet," Psi warned, the light of his gaze dimming. "He's _very_ dangerous. More so than even me, I regret to say. What he has planned for your universe puts not only all mortal lives at risk, but the existence of every _Other_ as well. I know where he is hiding, and I know how to use the Allspark's power to defeat him. You just need to convince the Allspark to work with me."

Mikaela scowled. "I don't know if I want to."

"You've got time to decide. My batteries are running low, so I can't jump you home." He made a gesture that might have meant 'sorry', but he definitely screwed it up. "I heard the two humans were going to get you home, so you'll have to depend on them. In the meantime, I'm not going anywhere."

"Won't people get suspicious if you hang around?" she grumbled.

"Except for the looney tunes over in the psyche ward, no one can see me except for you. One of the perks of being an _Other_." He shook his head, shrugging his shoulders at the same time. "I have to keep myself busy or I'll end up going haywire, but there's nothing a mortal can do about me. I can't touch them, so they're safe...ish. They feel my presence, but let's be honest- who wouldn't?"

Tentatively, she asked, "The Mickey song, that's your doing, isn't it?"

"Indeed. It's a catchy song. Didn't know what the lyrics were until I learned English, but damn if tune doesn't want to make you dance and drive you crazy at the same time." He did a weird wiggle-dance in his seat.

"You can stop the music, can't you?"

"Why would you want something like that?" He seemed honestly perplexed by the idea.

"If you need me so badly, you're going to have to make some concessions for me," Mikaela pointed out stubbornly.

"Oh," replied the Fallen. "I never thought of that. I suppose if you're willing to be my pet..." Suddenly the music stopped. The silence that happened in its wake was surprising; having grown so used to the noise, the sound of silence was strange. A moment later, hysterical cheering broke the air as the residents of the hospital celebrated their sudden good luck. The Fallen regarded Mikaela with an inclination of his head. "There, how's that?"

"Better." She stared at him with forlorn eyes. "I'm really stuck with you, aren't I?"

"Yep. We're going to be BFFs." A black-stained thumbs-up was given to her. It wasn't nearly as cheerful as a normal thumbs-up might have been.

Feeling condemned, she set her chin atop her kneecaps and hugged herself tight. "Do you have a name I can call you? Your name isn't _The Fallen_, is it?"

"The Fallen is one of my titles," replied Psi. "But a name for you to call me by? Hmmm, let's see... let's see... Ah! I got it! I am No One." There was a long pause as he thought about it, and then he slapped his knee and hooted a quick laugh. "Ha, ha! That joke works in English too!"

It was hard to resist the urge to roll her eyes. How was this clown supposed to be the most terrifying monster in all the universe? He was an idiot.

"So, um, No One... are you able to change forms too?"

To this, her company went rigid. He thrust himself from his seat so violently that it felt backwards with a clatter. For a moment, Mikaela feared that she had gone to far and finally invited the monster's wrath upon her. A concussion wave of cold power rolled over her, blowing her hair back.

"Change forms? What's wrong with this one?" the Fallen exclaimed, more pathetic than threatening. "I thought we were finally getting somewhere with this one!"

Mikaela gathered her wits, as scrambled as they were, and shouted back. "No, we weren't! That's a horrible form!"

His amber eyes shot wide with disbelief, and perhaps even a little hurt. His momentary rage deflated into an air of pouting. He sat back down with a thump, crossing his arms tightly across the naked expanse of his mutilated grey chest. "Then what do you want? A clown? A puppy? _A spoon? _What could possibly appease you, you wretched little hex?"

"You can be a spoon?" she asked dubiously.

"Of course I can be a spoon," Psi harrumphed, shifting form with less effort than it took to say _"fork you later!_" Mikaela gaped down at the sinister looking piece of cutlery which now sat where evil anti-Sam had been sitting. It was a twisted silver piece, more tarnish than shine, born from a gothic imagination. Its rounded side was shaped to look like the paw of some beast hoping to claw the inside of an unsuspecting mouth. The handle was crooked and nearly all black with spotty tarnish, topped with the design of a bejewelled amber eye which flashed hauntingly under the lights.

Mikaela hesitantly picked the spoon up and turned it over in all directions. It looked and felt just like a real spoon, though the metal was colder than she expected. Like ice. It also smelled funny. When she stared too long at the amber eye design, it blinked back at her owlishly. Creepy.

At the far end of the room, a gentle knock announced the presence of a nurse. She let herself in nervously, peering around as though she expected some terrible fiend to jump out at her. Mikaela suspected No One had something to do with that. In the nurse's arms was a tray of simple foods- a covered bowl which presumably held soup, a steaming bread roll, and a small fruit cup.

"Dr. Annan said you were awake," said the nurse, setting the tray on Mikaela's outstretched legs. "This is just a bit of something to get in your stomach. I bet your hungry. I hope you like turkey soup."

The nurse left before Mikaela could thank her, or point out that she had not been given cutlery to eat with.

"Well?" Psi sniffed the moment the door was closed, his voice emanating from all directions. He vibrated in her palm. "Am I spoony enough for you?"

"Spoony enough?" Mikaela returned her attention to the creature sitting in her palm. She stared for a good, long while. And then her eyes travelled to the tray of dinner she'd been brought. Evil spoon. Lunch. Evil spoon... Lunch. And then she got a wicked idea.

"Oh," she said, reaching for the soup. "You'll do."


	32. To Sacrifice

First post of the New Year, fancy that. I hope everyone enjoys the end. =P

Thank you so much to the amazing reviewers of the last chapter! As always, you astound me with your love and enthusiasm for this story. The inspiration you bring never ceases to encourage me to keep writing. Thank you to **StarscreamII, Cybela, Alangrieal, Ciel, FORD B, renegadewriter8, CNightJoy, Flameshield, animelover1993, Sprikolas, abarai-san, TransformersLover95, femme4jack, Poiseninja, Frenzy5150, Piper of Locksley, FunkyFisk1991, Wolf-mask,** **EmberLady, **and** ssample**. All of you are too dear to completely convey my adoration. I would cartwheel on the moon for you if I could.

**May We Never Let Go  
To Sacrifice **

It had been quite a while since Sam had dreamed. Maybe not as long a while as he might have hoped, but longer than he expected. Since he had been under the impression that he was in stasis, he had not been expecting to dream at all. Then again, when he had posted his great-great-grandfather's old glasses on eBay, he had not expected to involve himself in an ancient intergalactic war between powerful, nigh-immortal beings. More to that point, when he had hoisted the Allspark above his head and plunged it into the chest of one the most vile monsters known to the universe, he had not expected to become the replacement vessel for the artifact.

With his track record, it might have been safer for himself to stop expecting anything at all. Or, at the very least, he should start expecting the worst possible outcomes imaginable, since he seemed to attract them on a regular basis.

Even if Sam had not been expecting himself to dream, he knew the deal nonetheless. He was once again in Mission City. Since the summer he had spent cleaning up after the battle, he had not returned to the city. Eight years since the battle, nearly seven since he'd quit the clean-up teams. Indeed, he steadfastly avoided the city on a regular basis now. Around every corner brought him a reminder of his first harsh introduction into the world of war and the universe of intergalactic conflict. It seemed like a selfish thing to do, but he wished to have at least one less reminder in the world that he had dug his own grave two shovels too deep too soon when he had decided to befriend Bumblebee rather than run the hell away like a sensible person.

Perhaps it was a sign of his jadedness to the world, but he no longer flinched at the sight of the destroyed city around him. When the burning air filled his lungs, it filled his head with sad nostalgia rather than fear. His heart could no longer bear the thought of fear; it grew sick with the idea. He was a dead man regardless of what his dreams showed him. Even the stuff of nightmares had lost their fright. He hoped it wasn't vanity that made him not want to die a scared man; aside from a power that wasn't even his to begin with, what did he have to be vain of? Not even Mikaela existed to anchor him to this world. He had nothing left.

To reflect the staid resignation with which he faced his nightmares, the battlefield was silent as the grave. Even though debris smoked and embers burned while black ash rained from the sky as a parched blanket come to soak up the blood and the energon, there was no life among the ruins, save for Sam himself.

When the tall white building with the statues on the roof came into sight, Sam felt the cracked edges of his dry lips turning up. What horrible memories he had of that stupid building. He truly thought he was going to die when he stood on the ledge of the roof, facing down death in the form of a psychotic metal giant who had been frozen in ice for a couple thousand years. Now the building sat like a mausoleum, quietly stubborn and pensively silent. It was a curiously undamaged building, considering Megatron had ravaged the interior and smashed the roof to get to Sam. Why would this building be spared in the dream? Then again, this was a dream; the content of dreams did not always need to make sense.

He pushed open the doors, ignoring the sight of his hands. The blue light cast from the swirling patterns was distracting. The glow appeared brighter, the gouges deeper. His consolation was that this dream gave him the dignity of clothes which covered the rest of him; a white shirt which reached down to his wrists, a pair of trousers of an off shade of beige, and sneakers which pinched his feet when he walked.

Into the great open room of crumbling walls and a cracked plaster ceiling. The doors groaned closed behind him, shutting off the rest of the world with a definitive thump. Dust and bits of debris stirred weakly. Old beams creaked and cracked in the walls. A chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling, smashing loudly on the floor.

"I'm tired," he called into the empty expanse, listening as his echoed voice spoke back to him. He shut his eyes tight and tilted his head back. In his mind's eye, he saw one last vision of Mikaela. More beautiful than any human had a right to be. A hot tear ran down his cheek. "I'm so tired."

From the barren corners came gentle breezes laden with the sweet scents of power and otherworldly beings. Sam had come to associate the scents and the soft voices with the amber-eyed ghosts who held no form on Earth. The breeze that travelled with them was weak, and now Sam knew why; it travelled from a faraway world to this one. Their touch was weak because they were distant, insubstantial, and unwelcome on Earth. Regardless of all this, they still tried to reach out. One gentle hand formed of morning mist and starlight travelled down his cheek, as if to wipe away his sorrows.

"_We know, Sam,"_ whispered one tiny voice, breathed from one end of the universe to the other. _"We are sorry." _

His eyes came open to see them, but their shapes were only defined when the breeze blew around them. If he could see them truly, he might have had the heart to be frightened. No doubt they would have had terrifying forms. They were less than ghosts here; one could not be frightened of things that were less than even the dead. But his chest burned bright as he acknowledged their presence. He guessed, and rightly so, that he was more Allspark than human now; it was that powerful part of himself that recognized his company. Deep inside him, there was rejoice to encounter creatures with whom the Allspark was familiar.

"Is it almost over?" he croaked. "The war, I mean... or everything?" He didn't care which came first.

"_Almost." _

"Great." He did not know if he had enough soul left to make it to heaven. Even if he had only a scrap, he hoped it was enough to be able to see Mikaela's face one last time. It didn't even matter if he wasn't allowed into heaven, if such a place really existed. If they let him stand at the gates and look in, it would have been enough.

"I still have to fight, don't I?"

"_We all have that choice."_

He clenched his fists, sweeping his gaze to the dirt-strewn floor. "It's not much of a choice for me."

Silence permeated the gritty air. There was no comfort they could offer. None for Sam to accept. There was a fight looming on the horizon. Like a black hole, it would suck everything and everyone in. Freewill and hope would soon follow, if it had not been sucked in already.

Another breeze blew, shifting his transparent company like reeds by the riverside. Their knowing gaze, the only constant element about them, remained steady and solemn. Sam could relate to the feeling of being a ghost; being buffered around by forces stronger than he was. That was pretty much the status quo of his life.

A jolt zinged through his body as he felt someone touch his hand. Squeeze it. As if there were someone out there trying to comfort him. He looked to his hand and saw that no hand accompanied his, not even one belonging to a ghost. The touch was warm and familiar, full of strength and affection. It was much more real than the contents of the dream. Sam closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the sense of devotion surrounding him.

"Bumblebee," he murmured, not surprised to recognize the presence. Bumblebee must have been with his body, watching over him as he had always done. Knowing the scout was out there gave Sam a sudden bloom of warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with his soul being burned away.

A strength he had not known for a long time returned, flowing steadily from Bumblebee to Sam, and infusing itself into his heart and mind. It reminded him that all was not lost just yet; if Bumblebee was still willing to hold on to him, then Sam certainly still had things to hold on to, too. He wasn't dead yet, after all. He had the Allspark inside him; it might have been burning him alive, but it was still one of the most powerful artifacts in the universe. No one could _make_ him do anything he didn't want to. No one had ever made him do anything he didn't want to; it had always been his decision, no matter how tough it was to make. If he chose to go out fighting, he was going to take a hell of a lot of bastards down with him, starting with Nemesis Prime.

"You've got a strange look on you, boy," called a voice from above the main atrium. Down the stairs came the sound of expensive shoes, accompanied by the swish of angel wings. The devil appeared in short order, his impeccable visage at odds with the derelict state around him. "Thinking about your current state of affairs?"

Sam didn't feel like being intimidated anymore. Bumblebee's touch was still strong and warm, giving him the strength he needed to stick his chest out and put his chin up. "Just thinking about some choices I have," he replied. "Keeping my options open and all that."

"Indeed?" wondered the devil.

The corners of Sam's lips kicked up. "If I ever get tired of being the Allspark, I could always join a Freak Show. You're welcome to join me."

"Always the clown, aren't you?" said the devil, coming abreast of the ground. "I suggest the _Diable de Cirque_, if you're thinking the latter option. I hear it has _great_ connections."

Sam's smirk turned to a scowl. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You do that." Very briefly, Lucifer's cold eyes drifted to the ghosts. The once handsome expression he wore morphed into something heinous. He did not like the ghosts; they were trespassers on his world, and terrible reminders of how transient Sam's power was. Nearly as bad as Psi, the Ever-Annoying Fallen One.

"Go. You're not wanted here," he said, shooing them away. They blew away with a whisper on the breeze, no evidence of ever being there except for the lingering scent.

"Who were they?" Sam asked. "They've never told me who they were; they've just always been here."

One golden brow arched disdainfully. "I shouldn't have to tell you who they are. You should know already."

"Never mind," Sam grunted, turning away. "It's not like it matters. I don't have much time left, anyways."

"No, you don't." There was a chuckle in those words, as if the slipping sands of Sam's last moments were funny. It probably was funny to a guy like the devil. A powerful, immortal artifact facing the limitations of mortality at its finest – yeah, a real funny cosmic joke.

"Did you come here just to piss me off, or is there some new intergalactic development seething for my attention?" Sam spat.

"Quite possibly." He bit into an apple and savoured it. Where the apple came from was a mystery better left unresolved.

"Let me guess- someone's unleashed the apocalypse?" Sam drawled. "No, wait, it's Armageddon! Ha, wrong again. Ragnarök behind door number three." Simmering fury sparked in the unnatural light of his blue eyes. "I bet it's all of the above, isn't it? Because my luck isn't good enough to be only one of those things."

"I can honestly say that I don't care how bad your luck is," the devil replied, glancing around the large room with a disinterested air. "I came here with some very interesting news that might have piqued your interest. A recent development that _might_ have lightened your spirits, so to speak. Now I think I would much rather watch you suffer."

"Go to hell."

Brief, sharp laughter rang off the walls. "I own prime real estate there." Two more bites were taken from the apple, whose white flesh bled red fluid that did not look at all like apple juice. A tiny trickle of apple-blood ran down the devil's wrist; he licked it away as if licking honey from a lover. Sam could not look away, and he disgusted himself with his inability to look away.

Once done cleaning away the last vestiges of blood, the devil cast his regard once again upon Sam. "Now that I see you're only worse than you were before, there's no point in staying. I'll be on my way."

"Why bother at all?" Sam sneered. "You didn't need to come. I could have wallowed here just fine without you making it worse."

"Indeed, why bother? You've been wondering that a lot lately, haven't you?" Lucifer murmured. He was too knowing, taking cruel enjoyment in the knowledge of Sam's struggles.

"Is that any of your business?" Sam snapped harshly.

"Some would say it was," came the smooth reply, unbothered by Sam's tone. "I'm going to go now. Sleep some more, if you want. Dream, if that's what pleases you." He chuckled quietly. "Soon enough, you won't be able to do either."

A gust of wind rushed over Sam's skin, rippling through his clothes. The sight of the devil's white wings stretched wide was a sight worth seeing. More perfect than any wing found on a living bird. Too white to be natural. They arched down in a powerful sweep, though the devil was gone before the flap was complete.

Sam was alone again in his dream, and he decided he liked it better that way. He walked over to the wide staircase that rose from the floor like a curving spine. Dust layered each tier, with two sets of footprints travelling it. Coming down was the devil's, his tracks distinct; they were not the marks of expensive leather shoes but the prints made by a large, clawed beast. The second set was messier, smaller, and made a long time ago by someone racing up the stairs in a panicked race for his life. Sam recognized his own feet from the day he had made a choice that changed him for the rest of his life.

He sat down at the bottom of the steps, sagging under the weight of what his life had become. His hand still tingled, like an electric current running through it. He held it up for scrutiny, seeing nothing new. It was still a hand, no matter how mutilated it appeared. He wanted to believe it was Bumblebee holding his hand. A small gesture like that meant the world to him, more than he thought it would mean until he felt sweet solace of a kind touch on his tired flesh.

In the distant past, he heard Megatron calling to him- _"Is it fear or courage that compels you, fleshling?" _

He licked his chapped lips, tasting a flavour from them he did not recognize. Much like he did not recognize himself these days.

Megatron might have been dead, but his question still stood. Was this courage? He didn't even have to think about it to know the answer. The opposite of courage was the definition of his current life. He was breaking down in a bad way. He was letting himself be tossed around and defeated. Even if he wasn't running away screaming, he was still running away. Fear had been compelling him for longer than he cared to admit. Long before the war had become as dire as it was now. He'd been running deeper and deeper inside himself until he could hardly see his way out anymore.

He had already come to the conclusion that he didn't have it in him to be scared anymore, so his only option left was to be brave.

One last stand was all he needed.

"At least I have one thing settled. A billion little details to go," he sighed ruefully, resting his head upon his knees and let his tired eyes slip closed. Only for a few spare moments would he sleep. He was so very tired. More tired than he'd ever been. He needed a moment to himself to sleep without dreaming, and what better place to dreamlessly sleep than within a dream? He was comforted by the warmth surrounding his palm. With all his might, he tried to squeeze Bumblebee's hand in return.

When he woke up, things were going to change.

* * *

Bumblebee startled from his light doze by the feeling of fingers wrapping around his own. When he glanced down, he marvelled at the sight of Sam's limp hand holding his own. To his knowledge, Sam had never once moved while trapped in stasis. This was a first. He felt his spark turn over in his sparkcase.

"Sam?" the scout called, inching up from the leather chair he had dragged in from the living room. With his free hand, he brushed his fingertips down the side of the boy's face. "Sam, are you there? Can you answer me?" He squeezed the boy's hand, hoping for a response.

Sam did not answer, nor did he return the gesture.

The door to the room swung open to admit Miles, panicked hope in his mismatched eyes. "Is he waking up?"

"I... don't know." Bumblebee stared at the hand that still held his, assured of the reality of the grip by how firmly he continued to be held. He scanned the body, hoping for a sign. Five days was too long to sit by a bedside. His holographic eyes shot wide, their dim red glow casting odd shadows on his cheekbones. "He's sleeping."

"Of course he's sleeping," Miles sighed, raking his hands through his hair. "We're waiting for him to wake up, remember?"

"No, Miles, he's _sleeping_," Bumblebee said again, stressing the most important part of the statement. "He's not in stasis anymore. He's just sleeping- plain human sleeping." He could not help the excited pitch that cracked his manufactured voice.

Miles took a moment to process the new information, quickly followed by a donning look of excitement. "Duuuuudddddeeeee." He looked on the verge of whooping a cheer.

"_Shhhh,"_ Bumblebee said quickly, one finger to his lips to emphasize the order.

Miles quickly swallowed his jubilation, nearly choking on it. He padded across the room to stand at Bumblebee's shoulder, peering down at Sleeping Beauty with a gaze akin to awe. His fingers prodded at Bumblebee's hologram, tugging at his shirt and pushing at the shoulders. "Shouldn't we... I don't know, wake him up?"

Bumblebee considered the option for a second, weighing the hand that still clung to his. He returned the gesture with strength of his own, and prayed to whatever gods were on Earth that Sam could somehow feel him. Wherever the human's mind was, if he was able to take any comfort in the love Bumblebee was trying to pour into him, then maybe... maybe that would be enough for Sam.

"Let him sleep," he eventually said.

Miles chewed his bottom lip. "You sure?"

"If he wanted to wake up, I have a feeling his eyes would be open right now," Bumblebee sighed.

"You're right," Miles breathed, leaning heavily against the back of the cream-coloured leather chair. "If he wants to sleep, we should let him. He hasn't been sleeping well lately, if he bothers to sleep at all. He needs a few moments to himself."

The scout glanced up to his co-conspirator with gratitude shining in his wrong-coloured eyes. He had tried for days to switch the colour back to blue, but it stayed red. It always went back to red. Even in his true form, he could not force his optics to stay blue. His yellow paint was nearly all gone.

Miles smiled back at him, one eye glowing and the other not.

"No one has to know," the scout murmured. "We'll pretend he's still in stasis until he decides to wake up on his own."

"It's not like you can tell the difference between the two by just looking at him," Miles chuckled, even though it wasn't really true. You could tell the difference, even if it was only slight. Sam looked lighter when he was only sleeping. He didn't seem as rigid or distant. When he was locked in stasis, he might as well have been dead. Like his soul no longer inhabited the body.

Bumblebee murmured something in Cybertronian.

Miles watched as Bumblebee traced his free hand down Sam's face again in a gesture that was so loving it was heartbreaking. There was more affection between the two of them than there was between blood-bound brothers. Sam had a way of inspiring those kinds of feelings. He was so earnest and giving of himself without ever really knowing what affect he had on others. He drew people in by being himself. Miles had been drawn into the trap long ago, and now found himself willing to do anything for his best friend.

"Tungsten will be here soon," said the human, glancing at the clock. The drone had left several hours prior to help Wheeljack, who had come online disoriented and more clumsy than usual. "Soon as he gets here, he'll know Sam is only sleeping. He'll report it to Elita One."

As soon as that happened, there would be no peace. Sam would be summoned back to the realm of the waking whether he wanted it or not. He'd be thrust back into the world where Mikaela was gone, the bad guys were winning, and he was still dying. That wasn't fair by a long shot. The least that anyone could do was give him the choice of when he wanted to wake up. If that was a couple hours from now, so be it. What difference did it make?

"Can you distract him?" Bumblebee asked.

"Yeah, sure, I guess." He scratched his head again, dragging thick ropes of blond hair away from his face. He seemed to be pondering what tact he should take to distract Tungsten with, and how long it could possibly keep the ex-drone busy. "The best I'll probably be able to do is a couple of hours, if that."

Bumblebee sighed. "It's better than nothing. We can hope Sam wakes up before then."

"True." Miles pushed away from the back of the chair, ambling toward the door. "If I'm going to go delay him, I might as well go now. I'll meet him at the elevator."

"Good luck," Bumblebee called after him.

"I'll need it," Miles laughed, followed by the soft thump of the front door shutting behind him.

Now alone with Sam, Bumblebee moved himself from his seat to the edge of the bed. From there, he shuffled to his side to that he could lay side-by-side with his human brother in the manner he had laid with him every night since Sam had been brought to the bed. The mattress was soft, sinking down around him.

Through the matrix of his hologram, he felt Sam's heat as a reassuring presence. Although average for Sam as of late, his temperature was higher than normal for a human. Ratchet had noted Sam's elevated temperature several weeks prior to this, at the time registering as half a degree higher than usual with no obvious signs of fever or infection. Now Sam was fully above ten degrees that of a regular human, a point at which his brain and internal organs should have been baking, though he had yet to show any signs of damage. The physical kind, at least.

Ratchet cast himself nearly neurotic over the change, only outdone by the fervour by which human doctors like Felicity Spring, who were much closer to the dangers of high fevers in humans, reacted upon perceiving Sam's status. Were it not for the impracticality of it, and the notion that it probably would not have helped in the least, Sam would have been dunked in a tank of ice water and kept there until his so-called fever went down. Given that the origins of the fever were preternatural in nature, rather than bacterial, viral, fungal, or in any shape _organic_, and that it was failing to cause Sam any discomfort (it was questionable he would have noticed the difference if it had not been pointed out to him), he was spared the indignity of the ice bath.

The fever, like many changing elements about Sam, was merely another manifestation of the Allspark making itself known.

Even now, in the dimmed room with its curtains drawn and the lights turned low, Bumblebee could see the faint glowing lines beneath Sam's skin. A new addition which he and Miles had discussed for nearly the whole night on the second night of Sam's stasis. A conversation which had included Miles pouring his broken heart out amid a tide of tears that Sam was dying, and that he could no longer keep that terrible secret to himself. Bumblebee had been forced to promise not to breathe a word to anyone else, which he had readily agreed to. On the third night, Tungsten had been dismissed to the living room while Miles and Bumblebee convened over Sam's body, taking the comatose boy's clothes off in the dark, save for the decorum of his boxers, and crying when they confirmed the glow of light which shone from beneath his skin. Bumblebee knew the glyphs to be from the Allspark, recalling them from the first and last day he had seen the artifact for real inside the Hoover Dam.

Bumblebee took the time to touch Sam's face again, stroking his cheek gently. It was as rough at it had been on the first day of stasis, since extraneous functions such as hair growth and excretions ceased all together during Sam's unique shut-downs. No hair had grown, nor sweat produced. And, to the relief of everyone, no bedpans or diapers needed to be changed. Bumblebee pressed closer to Sam, slinging his arm over the body to hug him close. He did not require his sensors to feel the Allspark's power radiating like radioactivity from a nuclear core. It was warm and powerful; frightening and reassuring at the same time.

There was no Cybertronian in the universe who would not recognize the power of the Allspark. It was the conduit through which their sparks had been formed, brought into this world by a Prime's hands. Before any transformer was given home to their sparkcase, they knew the Allspark. They would know it for the rest of their lives, even if they consciously did not acknowledge it. The feeling of the power was strange, not quite like any other in the universe. Electricity, energon, plasma, radioactivity... they all had their own distinct textures when experienced through a Cybertronian's multitude of sensory apparatuses. The Allspark's energy was experienced on the same physical level, affecting the senses with its potent presence and overwhelming power, but it also had a way of being experienced ephemerally. _Spiritually_. Feeling the source of energy which brought forth your life was quite different from feeling an impersonal jolt of lightning pass over your armour or the detached radiation of a hunk of uranium infusing into a frame. A tug would always be there, in every spark, to be attracted to the power of the Allspark, gravitate toward it when it was near, and someday return to it when all else was finished. Every Cybertronian was tied in an unspeakably intimate way to the Allspark.

Every Cybertronian, except for Bumblebee.

It was kind of ironic, wasn't it? The only Cybertronian in existence who did not come from the Allspark was the one who loved the Allspark's vessel most of all.

Perhaps that was why he clung so desperately to Sam? Because he wanted to be like everyone else – bound by the center of their universe, cube-shaped and alien as it once was. If he could not spiritually be connected, than any other connection would do.

He wanted to scoff at the idea. He had loved Sam long before they had discovered what was hidden inside him. He had meant every word when he had told Sam that he had called the boy "brother" since the day he had ended Megatron's reign of terror in the streets of Mission City. Bumblebee held camaraderie with Sam unlike anything he shared with anyone of his own species, and he'd be damned if he ever gave that up. A brother with whom he cherished dearly and loved unabashedly. Sam was his family, come what may.

Primus.

'Come what may' was a poor choice of thought. Death was coming, and so much worst.

Bumblebee could not help it as his arms tightened desperately around Sam's body, only to ease off when he heard noises of stirring.

"Shhhhh," he breathed quietly into the human's ear, stroking Sam's back through the cloth of the clean t-shirt he had been dressed in. "It's alright. Stay asleep. Nothing's wrong, Sam. I'm here."

Soothed by both the words and ministrations, Sam fell back into an undisturbed slumber.

Assured of Sam's continued state, Bumblebee turned his face into the pillow at his cheek, wanting to scream as he was reminded that Death had already come. It would most likely visit again soon. Mikaela was gone, not even an orn past since her destruction. He mourned her more deeply than he had ever mourned a fellow warrior. She had been family as well. He also worried for the future, considering Sam's condition. How much time did they have left before... before it was too late? But not even that. Primus, it got worse. If they failed to hand Sam over in the allotted time, it would be the whole Witwicky family to pay the price.

Nemesis Prime was to blame for every tragedy. The Fallen had been a plague on them, but only insofar as the distant trouble he had caused attacking power stations and taunting them at his whims to satisfy his boredom. Nemesis Prime was decidedly the worse of the two. His attacks were far more personal in nature. Calculated stabs at their sparks and hearts, where it would hurt them the most and glean him the most pleasure. His efforts were unfairly concentrated in Bumblebee and Sam's directions.

"Damn him," Bumblebee cursed softly, too aware of the sliding away of sand in the hourglass. Growing closer to the end of the month's time when Sam either had to be handed over or his human family forsaken. What they needed was more time. They needed Nemesis off their backs long enough to have their forces arrive on base, including the armada of ex-Decepticons that were heading toward Earth as of that moment.

Nothing short of a miracle...

Or a sacrifice.

Bumblebee's mind veered so sharply into sudden shock that his hologram nearly dematerialized. He kept together by mere strings of code, able to feel the sharp edges of pixels before his form smoothed out into its usual androgynous shape. Sam sighed and rolled onto his back, away from the scout, which was probably for the better. He remained at peace while Bumblebee was thrown into a deeper tumultuous state.

The scout's realization turned over and over in his mind. It wasn't just Sam that Nemesis wanted; he wanted Bumblebee as well. He had shown interest in Bumblebee before he had turned his optics to the Allspark. That could be to his, Bumblebee's, advantage... if he decided to go through with the wicked thoughts that had suddenly flown into his head.

Careful to disengage from Sam and shuffle from the mattress, the hologram took up residence in the leather chair again. His arms wrapped around himself, a cold comfort he hardly felt. The last thing he wanted to do was hand himself over to Nemesis Prime. Down that route laid his own madness. Without a doubt, the monster would lay into ever insecurity Bumblebee had about himself. Whatever love Optimus Prime and Elita One had been able to bolster in him, would it be enough to withstand the sweet temptations of Nemesis's dark words? If Bumblebee found that he truly was kindred with the Dark Prime, would he have the strength to turn away in the end?

Bumblebee could barely stand the thought.

But he also knew that the Autobots needed time.

_Sam_ needed time.

Above all else, Bumblebee loved Sam. Loved him with all his spark and was willing to do anything for him, even if it meant give his own life. Regardless of what he truly was, he knew the love he felt was real. Even if he was some sort of monster underneath the guise of his yellow armour, did it matter if he knew he was capable of love and kindness? That had to be some sort of redemption.

His fear became laced with dread determination. It soon became solidified in his mind what he had to do in order to ensure that his side, his friends, his family, and his brother, had a fighting chance. As much as Bumblebee loved them, he had to let them go. He told himself it would only be for a short time, until the Autobots rose up and defeated the Nemesis. After that, Bumblebee would return. He assured himself of it a thousand times, each repeat sounding as much like a brittle lie as the first.

For one last comfort, Bumblebee reached for Sam's hand and held it tight. Despite the sensitivity of his hologram, he could not tell if Sam squeezed his hand back. He imagined Sam did. His lips ghosted over Sam's brow, laying a kiss there that was foreign to the Cybertronian species but felt right in that moment. Blue light flashed from beneath Sam's eyelids, on the verge of waking. Bumblebee's smile was sad as he stepped away from the bedside.

"I'm so sorry, Sam," he whispered, pixelating before shattering into a million little pieces. His consciousness reconstituted in his familiar yellow form a moment later. With no time to waste before his courage ran out, his engine turned over and he rolled from the parking lot. Sam's apartment building grew smaller in the distance. The boy would not be left alone for long; Tungsten would soon return and discover Bumblebee's absence. Sam would hopefully be awake by then. If not, hopefully wake soon after.

With a vague idea of what he was doing, and a spark that was quickly feeling like it was being mired in dread, he headed toward the edge of base where he could cross one of the bridges over the chasm. True, he could have used the bridge closest to the human sector instead of driving to the other side of base, but he had a very poor plan in mind that required a certain location.

He passed the _Loki_ as he went, its silent shape sitting large and grotesque in the distance. It looked strange under the mid-morning light, too colourful and wonderful to exist among the red and browns of the desert and the metal and concrete of buildings. Down the ramp of the ship came a golden form, who immediately raised his arm to Bumblebee. A hail crossed between them, beckoning Bumblebee over. Reluctantly, the scout acquiesced. Should he have kept driving, it would have raised suspicion.

Sunstreaker was down the ramp by the time Bumblebee approached. When the scout assumed his bipedal mode, the golden warrior was clearly taken aback.

"Your optics..." he breathed.

Bumblebee shuttered them. "I can't change them back. I've tried."

"Oh." It took a moment for Sunstreaker to mask his expression. Whatever he thought of the scout's new red optics, he did not betray his thoughts any further from behind the cool façade that fell over his features. A scratched golden hand was offered. They touched hands briefly, followed by Bumblebee quietly saying, "Good to see you're online."

"It's good to be online. Better than the other option," was the reply, equally quiet. Gentle claws came up to scratch at the healing wounds crisscrossing Sunstreaker's chassis. Bumblebee eyed the damages uneasily, aware that he had been the one to cause each wound. It bothered him more to realize that he did not remember the match, with the exception of brief flashes when he concentrated. What he clearly remembered was the consuming rage that had infused itself into his systems, making him come alive like an inferno.

Sunstreaker said nothing as he noted where Bumblebee's attention was. Scratches, gouges, healing wounds; five short Earth days was not enough to heal much. Thanks to Ratchet's care, the marks were not as severe as when they were first inflicted. Where normally the Lambo might have been berating whomever caused him such misery, Bumblebee was unique.

"Look," said Bumblebee, scuffing the dirt with his foot. "I'm sorry about what happened-."

"Don't be," Sunstreaker assured him. Without thinking, he brushed his knuckles down Bumblebee's faceplate in a sadly fond gesture. "I understand what you're going through."

Bumblebee leaned away gingerly, optics narrowing. "Do you?"

The golden warrior sighed, expecting the wariness. "I don't have a stain on me that shows on the outside like you do," he said, "but I have always carried one on the inside."

Bumblebee frowned, his hand subconsciously moving toward his forehead where the stain began before he realized what he was doing and immediately stopped.

"I've never told you much about myself, have I?" Sunstreaker murmured.

"No, but I filled in the blanks," Bumblebee replied with a guarded shrug. With the right incentive, any bot could be convinced to talk about anything. From a young age, Bumblebee had used that to his advantage to learn as much about his keepers as he could.

"I should have guessed. You were always too smart for your own good," Sunstreaker admitted, his smile wan. "When you first came to us, I thought that I could start over with you. If I told you nothing about myself, maybe that would be enough to never be a monster in your optics."

"I think a lot of bots had the same idea."

"I guess that was pretty stupid of us," Sunstreaker lamented, a self-deprecating laugh falling from his mouthplates.

Bumblebee backed away a step, wanting to leave. "What is this about, Sunstreaker? I... I have to be somewhere right now."

A flutter of suspicion roamed across the golden warrior's optics. "I think it's time I told you a little something about myself."

Movement over Sunstreaker's shoulder announced Sideswipe's entrance, no doubt summoned by Sunstreaker. He lurked in the shadows at the top of the _Loki_'s ramp, watching the exchange with shaded optics. This was a bad sign. Now Bumblebee was trapped until Sunstreaker was done saying his piece. If he tried to run, both twins would be on his aft. That was the last thing he wanted.

"Why now?" Bumblebee groaned. His optics swung to the wide expanse of freedom stretching out to the horizon beyond them. No disguising his eagerness to leave.

"There's no better time," said Sunstreaker, contemplative for a moment, deciding where to start. Bumblebee anxiously waited to get this over with. Finally, Sunstreaker said, "When I was a gladiator, and even worse when I first became an Autobot, I had a rage inside me that was... _dark_. And very powerful. I wanted to kill everything I touched."

The powerful urge to spit _"So?"_ nearly choked Bumblebee. What did it matter if Sunstreaker wanted to kill everything? That's what Bumblebee grew up doing. It was nothing new.

"It has taken me a very long time to become someone different, and I don't think I completely succeeded." Sunstreaker raised his claws, stained blue from too much energon to be completely washed away. He looked sad to see them. "The rage will never go away. It'll always be inside of me, and if I let it take over..." He laughed quietly, tragically. "I don't think I'll come back from it."

Bumblebee braced himself, armour bristling against the foreboding that clenched around his spark.

Cool blue optics weighted him with a heavy stare. "I saw that same rage inside of you when we fought."

Denial detonated, causing a violent recoil to rock through Bumblebee's frame. "I'm not like you!" he snarled, knowing as soon as the words left his vocal processor that they had been too harsh. Born from his own personal fears of the monster that may be lurking inside him, not from anything Sunstreaker ever did.

Sunstreaker flinched, shame casting his features briefly. He assumed Bumblebee's disgust of him. "I know you're not like me, Bee. You haven't made the same mistakes I have, but you could. That's what scares me. I don't want you to become like me; don't make the mistakes I have."

"I..." The rage that Sunstreaker had incited still gripped Bumblebee tightly, strangling his vocal processor. His vents heaved like hot sandpaper passing through them. Across his frame, the stain writhed in a panic.

"You better listen to him, Bee. He knows what he's talking about," Sideswipe murmured. He half raised himself from his crouch, prepared to come down the ramp to do something. He wasn't sure what he would do.

"I just want you to be careful, Bumblebee," Sunstreaker warned, breathed like a hushed plea. "If you let the darkness in, if you let it take over, it'll make you powerful. It'll make you so strong, nothing else will matter, but it won't make you whole. It'll open up a hole inside you that you will never be able to fill." Sunstreaker reached out, grasping Bumblebee's forearm tightly. "It's hard to come back from it. I know it too well, and I don't want it to happen to you."

A vacuum opened up inside of Bumblebee, sucking out the heat from his rage. Frigid coldness prickled down his armour, starting from the point where Sunstreaker's hand touched him. He jerked away, Sunstreaker releasing him just as quickly.

"I'll be okay," he croaked, tucking his arm to his chest where he could not be touched. "I'll be fine." He backed away one step, and then another. His joints creaked, gears groaning. The twins watched him with predatory fascination, though neither budged from their places. Finally, Bumblebee turned heel, transforming as he walked. The moment his tyres hit the ground, he kicked up dust and headed for the horizon.

Sideswipe came down the ramp, lacing his fingers with his brother's. They watched Bumblebee's shrinking form until the distance swallowed him up.

"He's up to something," the red twin observed.

"I know," Sunstreaker sighed.

"You think you got through to him?"

Golden fins glinted as a tired head shook from side to side. "No, I don't think I did."

* * *

The drive was a short one, delineated by tyre tracks of previous visitors. Sturdy rock formations jutted from the old earth, craggy and pockmarked from ages of eroding winds and monsoon rains. Bumblebee drew in a drag of dusty air, cycling it through his frame. It was gritty and dry. He wondered if this would be the last time he ever cycled air as a free bot. What if something went wrong? His plan was incredibly stupid, after all.

Ruefully, he dismissed his wandering train of thought. It didn't matter if things went wrong. What counted was that he was doing everything in his power to make sure his side had every fighting chance they could possibly have.

Nearby, unseen by him, a particular creature skittered in the sand. Black and green armour slinking at the periphery like a cockroach; watchful red optics not missing a thing. He could feel her regard sliding over him, calculating his presence. Unless he called to her, she would not come out; she would remain hidden, where Nothing would see her or know she was there. Her labs were close, concealed in plain sight and filled to the brim with her many curious schemes and dangerous projects. Protection enough, should Bumblebee's mission go wrong.

"I can do this," he whispered to himself, like a twisted pep talk. "I'm doing this for everyone."

He was shaking all over, despair coming to mingle with his determination. Not even his fists could lay still at his sides. There was one thing he needed to do to make his offering as convincing as possible. It scared him endlessly, consoled only by knowing the ends justified his means. He shuttered his optics and stopping fighting. Not since Mikaela had died had he let down his guard to the thrall of the infection. Now he felt it crawl with a life of its own, breaking free of its brittle reins. Every nook and cranny was filled. Every hole in his spark plugged with a bitter caulk. The whole process was so fast, Blink, and it was over.

Like an eclipse, the last of his bright yellow armour disappeared under darkness.

It hurt. Oh Primus, it _hurt_. More painful than when Megatron had crushed his vocal processor in Tyger Pax; worse than when his legs had been sheared from his frame in Mission City. Every bitterness he had ever felt; all the sorrow and hopelessness that had taken root in his spark, now they were given room to grow. Festering through him. A burn like fire, igniting raw hatred, setting his insides ablaze until his spark felt coated with black ash. The rage which Sunstreaker had seen in him, had warned him of, came alive again. Brutal, without mercy, it took hold of him and shook him to the core.

The only thing to keep him sane was Sam. A single memory of the boy, laying with him in the trashed streets of Mission City shortly after Bumblebee's legs had been destroyed. Braver than any seventeen year old boy should be, Sam had laid with him. Standing by him no matter what. It kept him anchored to his mission.

Everything Bumblebee was doing was for his brother.

"Nemesis!" he yelled. "Nemesis, I know you can hear me!"

A seasonably cool wind drifted through the outcroppings. Nearly December already, when even the hottest deserts in the northern hemisphere cooled by a fraction.

"Nemesis-!"

"I hear you."

Bumblebee spun around on a gasp, just as reality cut open and a dark shape stepped forth. Nemesis Prime looked larger than Bumblebee remembered, so large that the scout stumbled backwards to make room for the creature. The armour appeared darker, refusing to reflect the sunlight which blazed down upon them both. Red optics were just as bright as before, but their depths contained new knowledge which turned the smouldering glow into pure malevolence.

The rage which Bumblebee had allowed to consume him, bid him to leap forward. A roar exploded in his mind to rip Nemesis Prime's faceplate from his head and his head from his body. More self-control than he knew he could spare was needed to hold himself back.

"You called to me," said the Dark Prime.

"I did." He steeled himself, chin up and spinal column rigid. "I'm taking you up on your offer."

"Are you now?" Shrewd optics moved from the ground up, taking in every detail. He grasped Bumblebee's chin, tipping his head back. Repulsion rocketed through the scout's energon, searing through his spark.

"Yes," Bumblebee spat, a guttural sound. He burned alive with the desire to rip the monster's spark out.

"Tell me why," bid the Nemesis.

"You said I was like you," Bumblebee said huskily, tips of his feet searching for purchase on the shifting ground as he was lifted. Metal scraped rock. His hands grasps Nemesis's wrists like a prayer.

"You are."

"I believe you now. Just look at me." He spread his arms wide, the gears in his neck burning in protest as his weight hung him from Nemesis's grip like a hanging from the gallows. From the tops of his antenna to the tips of his feet, he was dark as night, no speck of him untouched. He felt every bit the monster he had turned himself into. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To turn me inside out and make me see what I really am. Well, it worked. Here I am."

Nemesis inclined his head. "And here I am."

"I'm done pretending I'm something I'm not." He had rehearsed the lies so many time in his head while he drove here, he almost believed them.. "All my life, I've been lied to. Not even Optimus Prime was brave enough to tell me where I came from. You told me the truth. You showed me what I am."

The iron shackle around his neck loosened, releasing him. Nemesis stepped back, shrewd and aloof.

Bumblebee took it as a good sign. "I'm ready to go with you now."

"I wonder what has brought about this change of spark?" Nemesis breathed. "The murder of that girl most likely did not endear me to you."

"She was only human. There are billions of them on this planet," Bumblebee spat, instantly wanting to purge because of the words. "They are short-lived and ignorant. They wouldn't know true power even if it was right in front of him."

"Or underneath their skin," Nemesis added lightly.

Bumblebee cringed. "You made me see how pointless it was to keep fighting. Why fight for the weak? They're not like me or you. I've seen how powerful you are." He raised his optics cautiously. "You can make me powerful like that, can't you?"

A dark optic ridge arched. "You would forsake the ones who raised you?"

"The ones who lied me, you mean. The ones who treat me like a freak, now more than ever. They never loved me. They never tried to understand me." A bitter spill of laughter fell from his mouthplates. "And the humans? They're nothing but smears of carbon. Maybe not even that. But with this?" He touched his armour, his shame. "I feel freer than I have ever been. I want the truth now, and power. I'm done being weak."

"Your true nature finally shows through." Nemesis ran the back of his hand down the side of Bumblebee's faceplate. The light of Bumblebee's spark grew dim in response. "You'll find when I bring you into yourself, life will become a distant memory. What you feel now is but a shadow of what you truly are."

That's what Bumblebee was afraid of.

"So will you take me?" he croaked.

"I don't believe I could turn you down." The corners of his mouthplates turned up. "Even if you are only lying to me."

Bumblebee stared at the Nemesis in horror.

"I don't care what reasons you have for coming to me. Whether it was by my design or yours, the end result is the same. You are mine, and I'm going to show you how foolish you were to resist me in the first place."

Rage quickly took the place of his horror. His stupid plan ruined! "Fine, take me then! You've wanted me from the start, and I'll give you what you want. A willing sacrifice - you can do whatever you want to me!"

"I assume you want something in return?" Nemesis drawled. There was no betrayal of emotion on his features, save for an abiding amusement in his gaze.

"Stop going after Sam," Bumblebee ordered. He felt the tips of his fingers gouging into his palms. "The Allspark isn't yours. He belongs to no one, and he doesn't deserve to have his family threatened. So you leave him alone. Leave his whole family alone."

"Is that all?"

"No." He heaved air through his vents. "Hound. You took him when you took Mikaela; you made him kill her-."

There was a pitying humour on the Dark Prime's faceplate. "I can't bring back the dead, little one. The human will remain dust."

"You can bring Hound back. I can see it in your optics that you've been keeping him. Release him. Bring him here." He shuttered his optics. The pulse of his spark was deafening in his audios. "Promise me those two things and you can have me."

"Only those two things?" Nemesis drawled. "Is that how you value your life?"

"Yes. It is."

"You don't know what your true worth is." He turned his back, running his hand through the air to split the seams in reality. A dark hole opened up. "Nevertheless, I like the terms of your deal." He knelt to the ground, reaching in to the hole up to his shoulder. In one deft movement, he threw Hound's body to the ground. Chips of green and grey coated in congealed blue flew in every direction. A pained cry echoed off the rocks.

Bumblebee started for the mech, to be stopped by a hand to his chest.

"Hound has been released," said Nemesis. "I have completed that term of the deal."

"And Sam?" Bumblebee breathed hoarsely.

"He is free as well. I will not pursue him," the Dark Prime assured. His hand moved over Bumblebee's chest, up to his shoulder. It laid atop the armour as heavy as a death sentence. "So long as you keep your end of the bargain. You will come with me, and I will show you your true nature and the world you come from."

On creaky hinges, Bumblebee nodded his consent.

"Good. Now you will come with me."

Bumblebee had no choice but to be guided to the open tear. Numbness crept over him, stronger than even the infection inside him. He felt like he was falling, though he had yet to move anywhere. They were on the threshold of the portal when Nemesis brought them up short, casting the scout a lethal smile.

"Now that we have the terms of our deal settled, I think it is pertinent to point out that if Sam comes after me to rescue you, there's nothing to stop me from taking him that way. I have a feeling we will be seeing him soon."

It was then that Bumblebee realized the flaw in his plan. He could not have screamed even if he wanted to. By that time, he was already drowning in darkness.


	33. To Save a Life

This chapter was such a bitch to write that it nearly made me give up on this story. I was _this close_ to saying "_Screw it, I'm gonna go make bird houses!_" I'm still not fully satisfied with everything. Then again, when is anyone fully satisfied with life? If we were all fully satisfied with life, there would be no need to write fanfiction, because we would all be happy with the stuff we get on TV. Dissatisfaction is required for fanfiction. I am currently dissatisfied, therefore I am doing it right.

God, I have such a love-hate relationship with my logic. =_=

_Character mentions_: I know I sometimes pull obscure TF characters out of nowhere, and not everyone catches onto the canon character references, so they automatically (tragically) assume it's an OC. I mention three bots in the chapter, Minerva, Star Sabre, and Flareup. They are actually canon characters, the first two from the Japanese TF series Headmaster and Victory. Flareup is a G1 castoff.

Anyways, my dissatisfaction with the world aside, I want to dearly and sincerely thank the reviewers of the last chapter who never cease to be more amazing than singing rainbow narwhals: **infinityinmirrors, Flameshield, FORD B, Cybela, Kellie Witwicky, Phoenix51, TransformersLover95, StarscreamII, Alangrieal, Poiseninja, EmberLady, renegadewriter8, CNightJoy, Dazja, Faecat, Femme4jack, FunkyFish1991, Prime13, Lecidre, Pruhana**, and **Miniquie**. Pieces of my heart belong to all of you.

Read, Review, & Enjoy!

**May We Never Let Go  
To Save a Life**

Sunstreaker was not sure what to think as he turned away from the distant plume of dust that marked Bumblebee's progress down the road. He had said what he wanted to say, and now it was up to the scout to do the right thing. Not that Sunstreaker knew exactly _what_ the right thing was supposed to be. But Bumblebee was a good bot at spark, and though Sunstreaker was not accustomed to keeping faith in anyone, he truly wanted to have faith that whatever Bumblebee was going through, he had enough sense to do the right thing in the end.

However, that newly inspired sense of faith still did not prevent the golden warrior was suffering a mild case of foreboding watching Bumblebee drive away.

"Come on, Sunny. He's gone now- there's nothing more we can do now," Sideswipe sighed, giving Sunstreaker's hand a good squeeze. "Let's go back inside." Through their bond, Sunstreaker could feel Sideswipe's unease. Likewise, Sideswipe sensed Sunstreaker's mild disquiet.

They retreated up the ramp into the cargo bay, their fingers remaining twined together in an absent gesture. Sunstreaker was the one to break the hold in order to crouch over the nearest prone form on the floor. Chipped claws traced over a motionless faceplate.

"He looks peaceful," Sunstreaker commented, gazing down into the familiar features of the Prime. Handsome features laid placid, rather than pinched with concern. Dark optics stared upward unblinkingly, reflecting like glass mirrors. Had Optimus been online, Sunstreaker wouldn't have dared to touch him.

"I guess they all look kind of peaceful," Sideswipe shrugged, remaining on his feet. "Well, Ironhide doesn't. He just looks like... _Ironhide_."

"Would you expect anything less?" Sunstreaker chuckled, his hand roving to his chest to pick at the healing welds across his armour.

"Stop scratching that," Sideswipe said absently, leaning down to swat at his brother's shoulder.

Sunstreaker dropped his hand, followed by rocking to his feet. "So, only Prime, Ironhide, and Chromia are offline?"

"Just them," Sideswipe confirmed. "Ratchet says their processors are still reeling to catch up after they were hit full force with the EM blast."

"Sam," Sunstreaker murmured.

"Who else?" Sideswipe sighed, shaking his head. "I was still running toward you guys when Sparky detonated. The shockwave knocked me and Elita flat on our afts."

Sunstreaker sat up straighter at the mentioning of the Prime's mate. "Is Elita One alright?"

"Oh yeah, she's fine," Sideswipe assured quickly. "Me, on the other hand- I totally got my back broiled." He turned around to indicate the blisters across his paint from high heat exposure. "I'll have to get the paint scraped off and reapplied."

Sunstreaker surveyed the minor damage with a glance. "I'll do that for you later."

"I wouldn't trust no one else to do it," Sideswipe laughed.

Sunstreaker nodded, and then asked, "So how's Sam?"

"He knocked out three-quarters of the Cybertronian population on base and has been unconscious ever since. I don't think he's doing so hot," Sideswipe replied dryly. A moment later, his expression faltered. "Not that I blame him."

"No?"

"Your memories are probably still scrambled," Sideswipe sighed. "Nemesis took Hound and Sam's female Mikaela hostage."

Sunstreaker frowned, sorting through recent files. Among the most vivid was the image of a single human woman lit up in the glow of blue-white plasma before she disintegrated. "She was murdered."

"Incinerated is more like it, by Hound's own shoulder mount." Sideswipe shifted around, suddenly uncomfortable. "You know, seeing something like that... anyone is bound to go a little short circuited."

Sunstreaker nodded quietly, recalling the brief few orns shortly after the bombing of Kaon's gladiatorial rings when he and Sideswipe had... _short circuited_. They had been nothing short of monsters. At least Sam had had the decency not to kill anyone with his grief. By comparison, the human's reaction was mild compared to personal massacre Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had crusaded on until they were too injured and weak to kill anymore.

They stood awkwardly together for a moment, for as long as Sideswipe could stand the silence. When he reached his level of tolerance, he rocked back on his heels and gave Sunstreaker a nudge with his elbow. A subject change was in order.

"You look like you could use some cleaning. I know you got supplies stashed in your room here. You can redo my paint, too," he said in a falsely cheerful tone. "And stop scratching that."

Sunstreaker realized he was unconsciously picking at his front again. His hand dropped to his side. "I think I have sand caught in the temporary plating."

"Ratchet will replace the welds later," Sideswipe assured, tugging the golden bot out of the hangar into the halls. Their rooms weren't far, given that the _Loki_ wasn't that large a ship. Down the hall and to the left. The door swished open to admit them into the room Sideswipe usually used as his quarters. The _Loki_'s flight from Carnéval to Nevada had made a mess of everything that had not been secured down with straps. Miscellaneous items still littered the floor days after the ship's arrival.

"Who is acting-Prime?" Sunstreaker asked as he perched on the edge of the berth, allowing Sideswipe to dart around for their needed cleaning supplies.

"Acting-Prime?" chirped the red mech, peering over his shoulder while he crouched down to grab the maintenance kit he spied hiding on the floor.

"Yeah."

"Elita One," Sideswipe answered with a quick grin.

The golden Lambo started for a moment, and then offered a half-smile. "Good for her."

"She's doing great," Sideswipe assured, pride clear in his tone. "You should see her. Jazz is with her most of the time, acting as second in command. He says it's almost like seeing her back in Iacon again. She comes by the _Loki_ at least once a day checking in on everyone. You'd be so proud of her, Sunny." He stood up and joined his brother on the berth, spreading out his gathered supplies to be shared between them. The quality wasn't as high as what Sunstreaker might demand for himself, but in this case the golden Lambo was politely silent.

"I'll have to go see her after we're done here," Sunstreaker murmured, turning a scraper between his fingers before he began shearing paint from Sideswipe's back.

"You do that," Sideswipe laughed. "She'll be glad for the company. Better than what I could give her. I keep saying the wrong things."

"You just _think_ you say the wrong things," Sunstreaker countered. "Sometimes you talk too much."

"Only because I don't do 'strong, silent type' as well as you do," Sideswipe chuckled. "You can get all fancy and artistic about it."

"Whatever." Sunstreaker rolled his optics. "While I'm taking your paint off, tell me what's been going on. I don't want to be caught off-guard out there."

Sideswipe complied, peering over his shoulder while he spoke. "Might as well hit you with the biggest news first. Starscream's coming Earth. And before you flip your circuit breakers, he was invited here. By Elita One." Sideswipe flashed an evil grin. "Okay, now you can flip your circuit breakers.

Sunstreaker gaped, not quite able to manage more than a confused _"Wha-?"_

"I know, right? It's just that insane!" Sideswipe exclaimed. "All I know is that Starscream is on his way with some... _Neo_-Decepticons. Whatever they're supposed to be. Jazz doesn't like it one bit. Both him and Prowl have been combing over every security protocol we have on base. Even Soundwave is loading up our firewalls just in case some Decepti-freak tries hacking us. Worse thing about it is that Elita One is the one who _invited_ Screamer, and since she's acting-Prime..."

"There's nothing we can do about it," Sunstreaker said darkly.

"I almost wish Optimus was the one who invited the creep," said the red mech. "At least with him, you and I don't mind ignoring him. We'd take the _Loki_ out there, kick their afts before they got here, and what's Prime gonna do about it? Put us in the brig? Ha! But Elita One... I'd just feel bad. Wouldn't be able to do it. It's _Elita One_, you know?"

"I know." Sunstreaker nodded, tilting the scraper to pick off a stubborn streak of broiled red paint. Elita had been his mentor long ago when he had been just a young apprentice. His fondness for her had not died liked everything else had in Kaon. "If she thinks this is a good idea, then we follow her orders."

Sideswipe sighed, nodding.

"_But,"_ Sunstreaker intoned, pressing the blade of the scraper into Sideswipe's back for emphasis. "If Starscream or any of his crew come anywhere near Elita One, we kill them. I don't care what her orders are, we kill them dead if they try to hurt her."

"I say we make it hurt, too." Sideswipe smirked, real devilment flashing in his gaze.

On to lighter topics, depending on how one viewed the subject matter... Sideswipe mentioned Punch's new lease on life, which was arguably a less inflammatory subject than Starscream coming to Earth. Punch had finally given in and let Jazz rip Counterpunch out of him. Jazz was one of the top hackers the Autobots had, but the holes left in the data were huge no matter how good the saboteur was. Luckily, Punch was recovering; he had been programmed for both Special Ops and Intelligence & Espionage, so there were fail-safes hidden throughout his CPU that were rebooting all his initial data. He might not be able to recall much of Earth, but a rebooted Punch stuck somewhere between the past and present was better than no Punch at all.

And then Sideswipe just _had_ to mention the new bots arriving on base. Two commanding officers were called Minerva from the Seoul delegation of Autobots and Flareup from the Berlin group. And, according to the red warrior, they were _hot._ Unfortunately, it looked like Minerva had something going on with one of the bots who had arrived from Tokyo- some diffusionist called Star Sabre, whose sword was of such considerable size that the humans had taken to joking that he was _compensating for something_. Flareup was unattached, though it was pissing bots off that Cliffjumper was monopolizing her time to go for drives and watch movies at the outdoor movie theatre.

There were plenty of other bots arriving from all over the world, but they really weren't worth mentioning because none of them happened to be as good looking as the two femmes.

Sunstreaker nearly laughed at this, because he was well aware of his brother's fooling around with Roulette at Carnéval. Sideswipe wasn't known for exclusive relationships, but he seemed rather fond of the ex-Decepticon femme. No matter how pretty the new Autobots coming in were, Sunstreaker could sense that Sideswipe was content to admire them from afar while waiting for Roulette to recover.

This, of course, prompted Sunstreaker to enquire about their fellow misfits of Carnéval. The news was mildly good, but not the cheerful mood-improving kind. Sideswipe scarcely left the _Loki_, so what he knew of Roulette, Flamewar, and Barricade's conditions were what others told him. Nightbird and Drift were generally good about giving updates. Flamewar was conscious now, though her spinal damage was preventing her from walking around for the next couple of orns. This put her in a foul mood that made her nearly unmanageable. Roulette and Barricade, whose injuries happened to be more severe, had not regained consciousness, though they were recovering at a reasonable rate considering what Nemesis did to them.

"I'm really starting to hate this bot," Sunstreaker spat. "If I knew he was going to end up being this much trouble, I would have killed him the first time we saw him in Sudan."

"We had no way of knowing," Sideswipe sighed. "All we saw was a Prime doppelganger. Some freak working for the Fallen. There was just no way of knowing what he really was..."

As true as those words happened to be, they were very little consolation for either twin. They had been among the first to encounter Nemesis, right alongside Hound, Bumblebee, and Sam. Each of them had had the chance to kill Nemesis when he first appeared. If they had known then what they did now... There was no questioning what they would have done. But it was too late now.

"We'll just have to kill him next time we see him," Sunstreaker said.

"No mercy," Sideswipe intoned, but then jerked up when his thoughts were derailed up an incoming channel. He put his hand to the side of his head and opened to the frequency, startled by the sound of Virus's distressed voice echoed through.

"_Sideswipe? Sideswipe, you must come to my labs immediately-._"

Sunstreaker could not hear the conversation, but he felt the surprise that rippled through Sideswipe's spark. He shot out of the way when the red Lambo scrambled off the berth to the floor.

"What's wrong? Are you alright?" Sideswipe demanded.

"_I'm fine. I'll explain when you get here. Just be quick!"_ The channel cut off, leaving Sideswipe bewildered and a little perplexed over what might possibly cause Virus to get worked up.

Sunstreaker was on his feet immediately, ready for action. He knew trouble when he saw it. "Who was that? What happened?"

"Moonfly. That was Moonfly," said the red mech, heading for the door. He wasn't about to waste any time. "She wants me to go to her labs. She wouldn't say why, but it sounded important."

"Did she sound hurt?" Sunstreaker asked, following at Sideswipe elbow.

"Shaken up," Sideswipe replied, picking up his pace through the halls. "I don't know... maybe a little scared? Something happened to make her lose her cool. I figure that if she's telling me to get to her labs damn quick, then I better listen."

Sunstreaker brooded the matter as they turned the corner and approached the nearest hatch. He thought of Moonfly's labs, and, contents notwithstanding, it was not a particularly dangerous place. It was placed out of the way, out of sight, and generally out of mind. No Autobots went there...

"Wait."

Sideswipe came skidding to a sudden halt. "What is it?"

"Bumblebee was heading in that direction," Sunstreaker said, a wave of dread suddenly washing through him. "Bumblebee was driving toward Moonfly's labs."

"Oh, slag. That's not good." Sideswipe kicked back into motion, running considerably faster toward the nearest hatch. Sunstreaker was hot on his heels. "You don't think he might have done something to her, do you?"

"I don't know. After he went feral on me during the competition, I'd say anything is possible," Sunstreaker said darkly. "I don't want to believe that he'd hurt anyone, but..."

"Maybe... maybe it's the other way around?" Sideswipe offered, false hope fluttering in his tone. He wrenched open a hatch and jumped to the ground without waiting for the built-in ladder to extend. Sunstreaker followed down the ladder at a slower pace, grunting as the metal across his chest stretched and compacted. Sideswipe helped him down the last few rungs to the ground. His voice was cautious in Sunstreaker's audio. "You know how Moonfly is. She could have easily attacked Bumblebee if she wanted to..."

"Moonfly attacked Bumblebee?" Sunstreaker wondered sceptically, shaking off his brother's hands. "She wouldn't hesitate to infect him, if that's what you mean. That wouldn't explain why Bumblebee drove out there in the first place. He'd need a reason, and I can't see Moonfly trying to lure him."

Sideswipe revved in frustration, scanning the horizon with a wary optic. "Whatever. She sounded panicked, so it's best I get there now and worry about reasons later."

"I'm coming with you," Sunstreaker intoned, making it quite obvious he was not being left behind.

To this, the red mech shook his head and stepped back. "Maybe you should hang back, Sunny. I can handle this on my own. You're still recovering, and she only asked for me."

"Only because she didn't know I was online," Sunstreaker replied sharply. He was already attempting to transform. His damages made it difficult, grinding gears and shearing at metal that wasn't ready to shift yet. He eased onto his tyres with a pained grunt, shuddering as armour lurched into its rearranged places. Sideswipe came down next to him with considerable ease, engine revving.

"Last chance to stay behind," Sideswipe said.

"Forget it," Sunstreaker sniped. "I'm coming with you."

"Fine, but I'm not driving slow for you."

They shot off together, with Sunstreaker lagging behind due to stiffness in his joints and the discomfort of his ill-fitting armour grating as he drove. They were grateful for the fact that their frame designs were meant for both power in battle and speed during the chase. Sun-greyed asphalt disappeared as they sped down the worn highway. There was no marker on the side of the road for Moonfly's labs. One simply had to_ know_ when and where to turn in order to find her hidden den. The turn into the uneven desert was jarring for both mechs as they spun out into the wild desert, kicking up red-brown plumes of loose dirt and dust. Lizards went scrambling for cover. Fresh tyre tracks announced that one other car had passed off road recently, confirming where Bumblebee had driven off to.

"Damn," Sunstreaker breathed to himself. "So he did come this way."

Sideswipe revved his engine in answer, inching ahead. Desert conditions were far from accessible at high speeds, especially to alt modes whose undercarriages sat so precariously low to the ground. Dirt and rocks were like hitting sandpaper at high speed, creating a red-hot burn that seared straight through to their cores. Still, they pushed themselves over the uneven terrain until the ominous jutting of rock formations formed on the horizon, growing steadily closer.

"Contact her and let her know we're almost there," Sunstreaker ordered.

"I can't," Sideswipe replied a moment later. "She's not answering my hails."

"Then drive faster."

Shaving a couple of seconds off their ETA might have been worth it, if it were not for the fact that braking on anything other than dry asphalt tended to get tricky. Loose dirt was among one of the worse surfaces to try to brake on at speeds exceeding 120 miles per hour. The moment they tapped their brakes, their back end flew out and threw them into uncontrollable spins. Sideswipe ended up rolling, transforming with a yelp so that he landed on his back rather than ruining his alt mode. Sunstreaker was thankfully more dignified, drudging to a reluctant stop in the shadowed overhang of Virus's hidden labs. He forced himself to transform, again grunting with the discomfort. He needn't call out to Sideswipe, since he already knew his brother was fine. There was no spark signature inside the labs, though he knelt to the ground and peered past the hologram to be sure no one was lurking.

"I'm over here!" called a sharp voice echoing off the rocks. "Quick! Hurry!"

The twins scanned the area, finding two spark signatures just beyond the bend in the rocks. One was strong, but the other was barely holding on. Careening onto the scene was like running headfirst into a horror movie.

"Holy frag," Sideswipe gasped upon seeing the destroyed creature spread across the ground.

Virus was on top of Hound, working furiously to save the mech as he convulsed. She was smeared in gore, caked liberally with dirt over top. Her optics were wild, frenzied. In each of her hands were lifesaving tools- her right hand wielded a welding torch and in the other there was a strip of temp plating pulled from her back. It must have been the last of her temp plating, because no other strip hung from the clamps.

"You took too long," she snapped, sparing only so long to issue the reprimand before thrusting her upper torso into Hound's gaping chest. Hound arched like a taut bow, a strangled scream crackling from his vocal processor. The scout's normally vibrant faceplate was crumpled, streaked with dried energon, the expression collapsed into a grotesque mask. There was no recognition to say that he knew where he was. There was a good chance that he didn't even know he was free. He was so lost in his own pain that it was like the world no longer existed.

"Slag, slag, holy frag," Sideswipe cursed, mouthplates gaping. Beyond profanity, he wasn't able to come up with anything to accurately describe the shock and horror of the scene.

"Stop gaping and help me!" Virus shrieked.

Sunstreaker dropped to his knees without a word, reaching for the scattered pieces of Hound's innards that Virus had yet to stuff back inside. They were wet against his palms, sticky from congealed grey-blue energon. While his experience lent him toward ripping the innards out of bots, Sunstreaker knew enough about Cybertronian anatomy to put things back inside in some sort of recognizable order. Beyond the hoarse screaming that echoed eerily, Hound did not give notice to his inner machinery being poured back in.

The worst part was that Hound kept screaming one word. Through his mindless hysteria, he kept screaming that he was _sorry_. For some reason, it made Sunstreaker sick to hear it.

It did not take long for Virus to realize that the half-spark that knelt next to her was not Sideswipe. She gasped and jerked out of Hound's chest, wide optics flashing to Sunstreaker's faceplate. There was no time to question the yellow twin's presence, so the small femme merely jerked her head in a determined nod before returning to her dying patient.

"What do you want me to do?" Sunstreaker asked, nearly dropping the tangle of energon lines as they squirmed in his palms. An electric charge carried over his palms, making his grotesquely aware that Hound could _feel_ everything they were doing to him. Revulsion roared through the warrior when he saw that nearly every energon line had been tied into knots. Multiple lines had been braided together, tied in bows, nooses, and knots. Someone had taken their time to _torture_ Hound.

"Hold him down," Virus snapped tensely as she took a clutch of loosened neural wires, threading them carefully. She was efficient as she worked, darting and quicksilver. She looked like a heathen with her optics blazing bright ruby red in the dark shadows cast by the late afternoon sun. A spray of energon from a ruptured pressure valve shot into her faceplate. She spat, cursed, shaking her head violently. Hound bucked, throwing her to the side. She spat another vile curse, scrambling to find purchase on the slick frame. Astroseconds later, she was back at weaving wires and welding wounds, barely able to divide her attention between the dying mech under her and the bots who had come to help her.

Sunstreaker grunted a wordless noise, watching as the small medic moved. Seeing that she was steady again at her work, he searched for a place on Hound's frame to place his hands. The only space that looked less mangled than the rest was his shoulders. Sunstreaker pressed his palms there, but did not apply his full weight. Hound's right shoulder felt wrong, and it was not until a moment later that Sunstreaker figured out why. The shoulder had been hollowed out, the mount that used to be there removed.

"Um, hello, I'm still here," Sideswipe called, hovering over the brutal scene. Obviously he had recovered from his previous shock. "You called me, remember? What do you need me to do?"

"Sunstreaker is already holding him down. Start gathering the parts that fell off," Virus ordered, pointing to the long, deep skid in the ground that glittered with pieces of Hound. "I've been too busy trying to keep him alive to gather everything that came off him."

"It looks like half of him is missing, and the other half is about ready to fall off," Sideswipe cursed, going to his knees and burying his hands in the dirt. He magnetized his palms to start drawing anything faintly metal toward him. As he did this, he asked, "Why didn't you call Ratchet for this? He's a medic. I'm...not. Sunstreaker... definitely not."

"I trust you," she said curtly, meaning she did not trust Ratchet. To be fair, Ratchet didn't trust her either, so they were even. "Besides, can you imagine what a call like that would have sounded? He might have refused me outright, or if he did deign to come, he probably would have assumed _I _did this."

"Just to cover all the bases, you didn't do this.._.right_?" Sideswipe asked cautiously.

A flashing glare was fixed on the red mech briefly. "No, Sideswipe, I did not magically procure this mech from his unknown location where he was being held hostage. And, no, I did not torture him within an inch of his miserable life."

"Just making sure. No need to get your wires in a knot," Sideswipe snorted.

Sunstreaker cast a careful optic on Virus. "Was Nemesis the one who did this?"

"I think it's fair to say that Nemesis is the likely culprit. He was the one who dumped Hound here." She paused, taking a deep drag of air, and then gestured grandly to the extent of the wounds. "I don't know anything about Nemesis, but I do know someone wanted this mech to hurt. It's sloppy, but effective."

"Sloppy?" Sunstreaker parroted. To his optics, Hound closely resembled the empty corpses left behind after a death match in the gladiatorial rings. The only difference was that Hound was still alive and screaming.

Virus cut him a sharp look. "Look at all of this- there's no skill to it, no pattern. It's not done by someone who's versed in torturing one of our species. Most of it seems... exploratory. Curious, even. Someone wanted to hurt Hound, but they also just wanted to have a look inside."

"You can tell?" Sideswipe wondered, picking up a scrap of metal with flakes of green paint on it. He grimaced and tossed it to the small pile he was making.

"Anyone versed in Cybertronian torture can tell," Virus replied, reaching behind her back for more temporary plating, and then cursed when she recalled it was all gone. Hound made a gurgled noise, ushering her back to work. "My speciality is viral warfare, of course, but I do have my medical background."

Sideswipe spat a curse so vile that if his paint wasn't already scraped off, it probably would have blistered again.

Sunstreaker continued to stare, fingers spasming against Hound's trembling shoulders.

"How... how did Hound get here?" he asked. "You said Nemesis, but...?"

"I'll tell you everything once we get this mech in Ratchet's hands. There's no time right now," Virus replied curtly. Her distraction caused her hand to come into contact with a bundle of bare neural wires. Hound let out let out a screeching wail that reverberated sharply off the rocks. His frame convulsed into a heavy roll, one that could possibly kill him if all his unsecured innards fell out of his torso and spilled across the sand.

"Grab him!" the femme shrieked. "Hold him down! I have to cut off his motor functions!"

Sunstreaker reacted immediately, attempting to pin Hound to the ground to cease his convulsing. The force of Hound's contortions rocked them both, but Sunstreaker held on as steadily as he could. He didn't dare put too much pressure on the mech for fear of collapsing an internal structure and inadvertently killing Hound.

"I've got him," he grunted. "Now knock him out!"

Virus ducked low to avoid the overhang of Sunstreaker's chest as he loomed overhead. She slithered to the broken interface panel on Hound's left shoulder and pried the metal face off, jerking away as a bolt of steam hissed out.

"Destroyed," she spat. The innards of the panel were hardly recognizable. With no time to waste, she jumped off of Hound and went for the side of his head. There was no armour to hide the innards; she hooked herself up, only to be forced to her knees by the blast that hit her through the link. Nearly strong enough to rip her firewalls straight out of her head. Hound was _out of his mind_.

"Paralyse him already!" Sideswipe bellowed, moving to Hound's feet to help hold him down when the mech started struggling harder.

"He's too damaged," Virus grunted. "His mind... I can barely get inside." She ripped her cable out and backed away, hands to the sides of her head. She stumbled a step away, then fell down.

Sunstreaker leaned over, one hand braced on Hound's wrecked shoulder while his free hand helped Virus to her feet.

"This isn't going to work. I have to go get something." She released his hand and ran away, back to her labs. A moment later, she returned with a small black data chip.

"What's that?" Sideswipe demanded, craning to see what Virus had run off for.

"One of my specialities," Virus said darkly, raising her right arm. A panel slid back and she rammed the data chip into an exposed port. Almost instantly, the two concealed prongs hidden in her forearm shot out. She rammed the prongs into Hound's processor, releasing a virus into his damaged systems.

"Moonfly!" Sunstreaker howled in outrage.

"It's just a paralytic virus," she spat fiercely, gripping her forearm. "It'll disrupt connection between his sparkcase and the rest of his frame. I had to do _something_ to stop him before he killed himself." She stepped back the moment Hound's movements started to become sluggish. His screaming quieted. "See? It's already working."

Probably due to his extensive damages, Hound's firewalls were no match for the new invader. Virus's infection took hold with frightening efficiency, turning writhing into uncoordinated flopping, and then sluggish twitching. Finally, no movement at all. Hoarse screams because choked noises, which eventually tapered into whimpering and silence. A long, low hiss fled from Hound's vent as life drained from the frame. With the connections between frame and spark severed, the metal turned inanimate. Dead, in a sense. Luckily, metal did not rot as quickly as organic flesh when its life force was briefly severed from it.

"That was a really stupid thing to do," Sideswipe said bluntly, easing away from Hound's feet. He levered to his own feet, only to find himself shaking. "A spark can't survive very long if its severed from the frame."

"So long as it stays within the sparkcase, it'll buy us enough time to stabilize him for transport," Virus sighed, flicking her arms out to dislodge the gobs of energon that had adhered to her plating. "My labs aren't equipped for medical treatment. Look at him! Treating him here would probably kill him. He needs a proper med bay with better equipped medics."

"He needs Ratchet," Sideswipe said.

Virus jerked her head in a curt nod.

"If we get him to Ratchet quickly, what are his chances of recovering?" Sunstreaker asked warily, feeling stiff as he eased away from Hound's shoulders.

"In my honest opinion?" Virus intoned. "If I saw a bot like this dragged in off the battlefield, I would have started harvesting parts even before the spark was gone. It would have been a waste of medical supplies to do otherwise."

The answer was no heartening in the least.

"And now?" Sunstreaker pressed, braced for another terribly honest answer.

"I couldn't just let him die. I _should_ have let him die, but I couldn't," Virus sighed, sounding a bit ashamed. "Not after the price paid to get him here."

"There was a price?" Sideswipe questioned warily.

"There's always a price," Virus replied with a frown. "I promised I'd tell you when we get to base. Until then, let's focus on keeping him alive."

Dread of the full story behind Hound's release ensured that the twins did not enquire further.

Time felt like it stretched on forever after that. In reality, it did not take Virus all that long to anchor most of Hound's loose innards into an adequate patchwork stable enough for travel. Once she had completed the minimum to ensure life, she retrieved an adjustable hover pad from her labs. It consisted of four large blocks of anti-gravity generators able to be arranged any distance from each other; once activated, they were laser-guided to form a solid-energy platform between each other that could be used to carry reasonable loads. Hound's weight was nearly too much for the generators to handle. Their miserable chugging vibrated the air, managing to keep the platform at an unsteady height of three feet off the ground.

Sunstreaker groaned as the process of transformation overtook him. "We'll tow him back," he said, presenting his rear bumper just as Sideswipe folded into his alt mode.

"Hitch us up," Sideswipe announced. "It's not like you can drag him back by yourself."

Virus complied silently, hitching both Lamborghinis to the hover pad. She herself clamoured warily onto the pad, intending to monitor Hound's condition until Ratchet could take over. "Go on," she said once settled. "We're ready back here."

The initial lurch forward was nearly enough to destabilize the solid-energy platform. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were forced to crawl along at a pace previously unknown to them, forced to endure the knowledge that every second that passed put Hound closer to having his spark weaken and fade out.

"Steady," Virus ordered. "Steady, or you'll kill him."

Being twins, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were at an advantage when syncing with each other. Instead of using the usual instruments to measure movement and imitate their partner, they simply opened their bond and allowed instinct to guide them. They slowed until their movements were mirrors of each other. The tow line turned taut and steady, less jostling on the hover pad.

The road was nearly in sight before Sunstreaker could bring himself to speak.

"Moonfly," he called, catching the femme's attention. She did not say anything, but Sunstreaker could feel her moving to the front of the hover pad to hear him more clearly. "You don't have to go into detail, but can you tell me one thing?"

"One thing," Virus promised.

"Did Bumblebee have anything to do with this?"

"Yes," Virus confirmed faintly. "He has everything to do with this."

* * *

Sam knew Bumblebee was already gone by the time he opened his eyes.

It was like a buzzing in the back of his mind that had suddenly stopped. He could no longer feel Bumblebee's energy anywhere around him, not from his hologram and not even from his actual spark.

Sam cracked open his eyes to confirm the emptiness of his darkened room. The ceiling was cast in dark shadow, deep red light seeping in from behind the pulled curtains to scar the floor and wall. A deep breath in drew in the fading scent of a new car, the scent every hologram carried.

"Bee?" Sam croaked, curious to see if he would be an answer.

No answer came.

Sam closed his eyes again, laying there and breathing in the feeling of loneliness at permeated the air.

For a long time, he had never thought about the way he sometimes could _feel_ the Autobots in the back of his mind. It was a sensation that was not quite sure he could describe. Each Autobot was like their own radio channels, buzzing in his mind with their own frequencies. He had grown so accustomed to ignoring that significant part of himself that connected him to the aliens who dominated his life that now, when he was acknowledging it, it felt like a gaping wound where Bumblebee was supposed to be. A bright spot inside himself filled with life and adventure had now gone dark.

A door opened beyond his line of site, followed by the sound of two hushed sets of feet entering the apartment.

"Looks like he's still out," Miles murmured, barely audible to Sam's ears.

There was a brief silence, a flash of blue lighting the narrow strip of space under the bedroom door.

"No," Tungsten replied just as quietly, though there was excitement in his tone. "He's awake."

_"Dude."_

Socked feet leaped across the apartment to the bedroom door, swinging it open to reveal Miles's silhouette. One moon pale eye was lost in evening shadow, while his cybernetic implant glowed an eerie blue light. Sam stared back at his friend, managing a smile.

"Hey," he said, groaning as he finally moved his stiff muscles. While he never had to worry about his body atrophying while in stasis, he did tend to get a little stiff from laying on his back for so long. His arm felt sore and tight from prolonged disuse as he invited Miles in with a wave of his hand.

"Dude, finally! I thought you were never going to wake up!" Miles scuffled to the side of the bed and plunked himself down in the cream coloured chair that still retained an imprint from when Bumblebee had been sitting on it. He looked dishevelled, his blond hair hanging around his unshaven face in little tangles. His hand was warm as he reached out and took Sam's hand. "How are you feeling?"

"I don't know yet," Sam replied honestly. "Glass of water would be nice."

Tungsten left for the water before the sentence was finished. He came back with a tall glass of cool water that felt like a balm all the way down Sam's dry throat. He finished the glass in two thirsty gulps, thrusting it back into the silver microbot's hands to deal with. Tungsten '_meep meep_-ed' quietly and returned to the kitchen to wash the glass like a good little ex-drone.

"How's your head?" Miles asked carefully, eyeing Sam with mild trepidation.

"Things are still sorting themselves out," Sam admitted. "Got a bit of a headache, but that's nothing new."

Miles pressed his lips together, nodding. There was tension in his expression, crinkling the corners of his eyes and bracketing his mouth. "You know what happened, though... right?"

Sam watched his friend for a moment, a long moment, and then nodded stiffly. "I know what happened."

Miles stared at the edge of the mattress, drawing in a deep breath. "We haven't done anything for Mikaela yet. We've been waiting for you."

"Thanks."

"It wouldn't have been right to do anything while you were out cold."

Sam turned his face away, pulling his hand back to his chest. In the low light of his room, he could see across the bed where Mikaela usually slept. Her clothes were still on the floor, exactly where she had left them before the fight that had made her leave. If he breathed in, he could smell the lingering scent of her skin, of her body wash and lotions. His eyes suddenly burned and his chest turned tight. He drew in a shuddering breath, not quite crying yet. The tears would come soon, though.

"You, uh... want us to give you a moment, Sam?" Miles wondered, glancing at Tungsten, who discreetly stood in the doorway. The little ex-drone was wringing his hands nervously, staring at the floor as if he couldn't bring himself to look directly at Sam.

"Yeah," Sam murmured, groaning as he forced himself to sit up despite his protesting muscles. Miles helped him up with gentle hands. "I think I want a moment."

"Take as long as you need," Miles murmured, easing to his feet and making his way to the door. He paused when Sam called him back a moment later.

"Do you know where Bumblebee went?" Sam asked.

Miles shook his head. "He was supposed to be here with you. Probably got summoned by Elita One or something... You know, 'cause a whole bunch of other Autobots have arrived on base. It's all hands on deck right now."

"Right." The answer didn't sit right with Sam, but he didn't bother to dispute it. He watched as the door closed behind the two retreating figures and then listened until the sound of footsteps faded, announcing that Miles and Tungsten had taken seats in the living room. Sam stayed where he sat amongst the rumpled sheets of his bed, staring at his hands in the dark. He could see the faded blue light under his skin. It didn't bother him anymore. Strange how it didn't bother him anymore after he had spent so long being repulsed by everything that made him inhuman.

He was resigned to his fate as the Allspark; there was no point in complaining anymore. Somehow, it was like having a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. He could breathe freely again for the short time he had left.

It took a short while to work feeling back into the rest of his body until he was confident to stand on his own two feet. He couldn't get over how empty his room felt. More empty than usual, because he knew the people who usually filled the empty spaces were not coming back. Mikaela was gone, and Bumblebee... Sam could not shake the feeling of finite resignation in the wake of Bumblebee's absence.

Pulling open the curtain to let the dying light in, Sam peered out over the view of the desert that stretched out for miles around him. He was one of the lucky ones who got an apartment with a decent view. Waking up to stare out over the EDC base would have been too much. The sun was low and red over the horizon, red and orange light bleeding out over the endless rocky landscape as if the sun were truly dying. Sam cracked open the window and let the cooling air rush over him. It wasn't much of a breeze, but the air felt fresh and real as it filled his lungs and reminded him that he was alive.

He walked to the other side of the bed where Mikaela's clothes were still strewn across the floor. More of her clothes were on the floor than in their proper drawers. Her shirts and pants, socks, and a few pairs of clean panties. Who would have guessed that a woman so incredibly beautiful was really quite terrible at keeping her stuff tidy. She loved to have a little mess laying around to make a place feel like home, a trait that seemingly ran in her strange family if one were to take into account her aunt's less-than-stellar housekeeping abilities and Hound's bizarre love of dirt.

It made Sam want to laugh, but the noise that came out was actually a choked sob.

His ass hit the bed and he hunched over the mess, picking up a worn cotton t-shirt with the word OWLS stretched across the front. He pressed his face into the fabric, able to breathe in the scents of fabric softener, a musty smell from being on the floor, and a distant smell of Mikaela's body. And suddenly Sam was crying because he knew that the clothes and smells and memories were all he had left.

He'd cried for her in his dream, but to be faced with the reality of her passing while awake was like finding out she was dead all over again. This time is was more real. More painful.

When tears started streaming from the corners of his eyes, he ignored the way the energon ignited the cotton shirt still clutched in his fists. The fibres slowly smouldered without catching on fire. Pink-dyed cotton morphed into black ashes in a sluggish burn that felt strangely warm against Sam's hands without feeling like it was burning.

He'd been so goddamn stupid. There were so many things to regret in his life, number one being that he had shut her out. Of all the people in his life, Mikaela was supposed to be _The One._ He was supposed to have been able to talk to her, turn to her when he needed support. He had wanted to marry her, for god's sake! Instead, he's been an ignorant little prick who bottled up all his insecurities until they finally managed to drive her away. In the end, it was partly because of his stupidity that she was gone.

It was his fault.

He was almost entirely cried out by the time there came a soft knock at the door and Tungsten eased his way in. The drone didn't say anything, though he emitted a gentle, low squeak that seemed to be his way of crying. It was not Sam's misery that drew the Cybertronian, but the smell of burning material. As alive as he might be, he still retained much of his drone programming that compelled him into certain things. He clutched a small metal trashcan in his hands, the one that was supposed to sit next to Sam's desk in his office.

Tungsten did not make eye-contact with Sam as he knelt to the ground and carefully took the human's hands in his own. Strings and ashes clung to the damp, rough flesh of Sam's palms. Tungsten was gentle as he peeled away the string and ash, barely able to feel the warmth of the burning material. He tipped into the trashcan to finish smouldering, where they would be less of a fire hazard. A single stray tear fell from Sam's jawline onto the ex-drone's hand. The touch of energon was what made Tungsten stop. He stared at the fluid as it glowed innocuously against his silver armour. He then placed his long index finger in it and smeared it until it was rubbed away.

"This is energon," said the small bot.

"They're just tears," Sam sighed, sucking back the wet lump in his throat.

Tungsten seemed to take the statement as an order. "Just tears," he repeated quietly, making no move to acknowledge the anomaly further.

Sam touched the side of Tungsten's head, running his fingers over the jutting silver crest that stood up from the top of the bot's head. It was scratched and worn down from eons of abuse while working with Wheeljack as a drone. One of the crests was completely snapped off and had never grown back, because Tungsten had not been alive back then to grow it back. Now he was alive, thanks to Sam.

"I knew you were sleeping," the silver bot murmured, continuing to kneel at Sam's feet. His spindly hands starting picking at the laundry, moving it around but not folding it. "I knew from the moment I stepped out of the elevator that you were sleeping and not in stasis."

Sam withdrew his hand, watching the Cybertronian with a mild frown. He wiped his eyes on the back of his wrist to better see his company.

Tungsten stared at the contents of the trashcan. "I let Miles lead me away because he wanted to let you sleep. He didn't say it, but it was obvious because he loves you so much. I wanted to let you sleep, too. I've never disobeyed orders before... Elita One ordered me to tell her when you came out of stasis, but I didn't do it. I still haven't done it."

"Why not?" Sam wondered. "I'm the Allspark. Bots need to know if I'm online or not."

"I guess I thought I owed you that much," Tungsten said lowly. "You're the one who brought me to life, after all. I never knew the Allspark as a cube- I've only ever known it as you. I owe _everything_ to you."

"You don't owe me anything," Sam sighed.

Tungsten shook his head, remaining unconvinced. "Now I wish there was more I could do, Sam. I wish I could do more, but I'm as useless as I was when I was drone."

Moving without thinking, Sam sunk to his knees and brought his arms around the silver microbot. He wasn't a huggy kind of person, so he blamed the sudden need to wrap his arms around the bot on the emotional circumstances. He felt the cold press of metal, the shifting of many tiny parts against his skin. A small exhalation of air came out his vents like a gasp. The silver bot's arms remained limb against the ground, unable to bring himself to return the embrace.

"You can't bring back the dead, Tungsten. Even with all the power the Allspark gives me, I can't bring back the dead either."

"You brought back Jazz," Tungsten whispered, the words shaking as if he were afraid to voice them.

"That wasn't me," Sam sighed, arms cinching tighter. "That was the Allspark, but not me. I can't bring back the dead. There are a lot of things I can't do that the real Allspark used to be able to do. I guess we're both kind of useless."

It wasn't really funny, but Tungsten coughed a soft laugh anyways.

Sam took a deep breath, feeling his heart beat like a drum in his chest. One moment beating like a normal heart, and the next it pounded insistently against the inside of his ribcage. A familiar burn suddenly flared up, hotter than the usual background burn Sam had become accustomed to. There was a new presence in the back of his mind, familiar and warm, and yet fading. Not Bumblebee's, but someone else's. Someone was dying.

Sam let go of Tungsten the same moment Tungsten let go of him.

"Oh," squeaked Tungsten, suddenly receiving a summons to the med bay. "Oh dear!"

Sam stumbled to his feet just as Tungsten jumped to his.

"I... I have to go," said the silver microbot, his white-blue optics flashing in the dim light. There was panic there. Fright. Something bad had happened. "There's an emergency. Ratchet needs all hands in the med bay-."

Before he could run from the room, Sam grabbed him. Tungsten might have been much stronger than any human, but he jerked to a dead halt at the touch of Sam's hand.

"Take me with you," he said, and it wasn't a request. It was the kind of command that no one could say no to. He did not know where the sudden urgent demand inside of him came from, but he knew that he was needed elsewhere. He was needed in the med bay where that fading spark was struggling to live. His eyes flashed, causing Tungsten wither in front of him. His grip might not have been crushing, but the accidental zap of energy that passed through his palm was enough to sting the Autobot.

"You just woke up," Tungsten said, trying to get away. "This is a medical emergency. You're not a medic or an engineer."

"Take me with you," Sam commanded again, tightening his fist around the microbot's wrist. "I can help. I swear I can help." In the back of his mind, he felt that fluttering warm presence fade to dark before flickering back to life again. There wasn't a lot of time. Someone was going to die if he didn't get there fast.

Tungsten cried out when a blast of energy lashed at him.

Miles appeared in the doorway away, eyes wide. A single glance told him enough. "Dude, what the hell? Tungsten only came in here 'cause he smelled smoke. You don't need to go Sparky on his ass! Let him go!"

Sam's hand unclenched from around Tungsten's wrist as if he had been burned. The skin of his palm was fine, merely warm. No evidence that he had just been putting off enough energy to make a nuclear reactor jealous. Tungsten's wrist was worse for wear, the metal smoking from the intense blast of energy. He was built to take a beating, but there was nothing that could stand up to the Allspark.

Sam cursed something vile, reaching to fix his mistake.

Miles interceded. "I know you're upset, Sam, but taking it out on Tungsten isn't right."

"I didn't mean to," Sam said, shouldering around his friend. "I can fix his wrist. Here, just give me your arm."

Tungsten took a step back, clutching his wrist to his chest. He looked scared for a moment, but then relented. He owed too much to Sam to not do as he was told. He offered his damaged arm, and then squeaked a surprised "_meep meep!_" when a jolt of energy much more pleasant than before passed through him. It was a wonderful sensation similar to the vague feeling he could barely remember those first moments he had been brought to life. A moment later, Sam released him to reveal smooth silver armour without a mark on it.

"I'm sorry," said the human, sounding sincere. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay," Tungsten sighed, inspecting his arm. "I've had worse. One time, Wheeljack blew my whole arm off. It was an accident, and I was a drone back then so I didn't feel anything, but still..." He twittered his usual nervous laugh, and then grimaced. Another summons came in his head, this one meant directly for him. Because he had not responded to the first summons, the second one was a little more violent than the first, and Ratchet did not scrimp on the curse words. Tungsten had no desire to be melted down for scrap, nor to be welded to the ceiling, nor to be dismantled slowly and painfully.

"I have to go," he said to the two humans, skittering backwards. "Ratchet really wants everyone in the med bay. I can't keep them waiting."

Sam watched him with hard eyes, following the ex-drone step for step. "Tungsten, please, I'm begging you. Take me with you. I can't explain it, but I know I can help. I fixed your arm- I can do the same to whoever is in the med bay."

Tungsten appeared at a loss, torn between obeying Ratchet and obeying Sam.

Sam stepped closer, his blue eyes blazing. "I'm not going to be useless anymore."

If Tungsten had been organic, he might have gulped back his rising sense of panic. Instead, he shuddered in a way that made all the armour on his frame shiver. Ratchet was frightening, but Sam was powerful. A moment later, he was bowing low in a manner that he might use for someone of much higher rank than himself. Like Prime-high rank.

"Alright. Get dressed and I'll take you, but don't be surprised if Ratchet tries to kick you out."

Sam raised his chin determinedly. "He won't kick me out."

* * *

It was fair to say that Ratchet had been witness to many terrible things in his long life.

He had seen mechs torn apart on the battlefield. Many of those savaged bots died of their injuries or died because there were not enough medics to treat them. For someone who spent his life putting frames together, watching them get taken apart in the most brutal, senseless fashion was sickening. Each scene tattooed itself in his mind like nightmares that stayed with him even while he was online. The sight and smell and feeling of vital fluids leaking out in a slow parade with life soon following. Writhing frames that cried out in desperation, yelling names of loved ones as if promising to meet them soon on the other side. Armour and limbs torn apart, wires sparking and twisting like living things.

It was not the gore that necessarily bothered Ratchet. Patchwork, his mentor, had long ago acclimated him to Cybertronian physiology so that there was nothing within a frame that could possibly inspire squeamishness. Cybertronians were living machines, and as machines there were host to metal, wires, silicone, pipes, energon, lubricant, screws, nuts, bolts... all the same mechanical parts that all machines of Cybertron possessed. The only thing that made them different from machines was their sparks. But it was the context of seeing gore that could inspire a rich hatred inside of Ratchet. Seeing gore meant that someone was in pain. Ratchet was not immune to his patients, not even now. Having his arms thrust elbow-deep into some poor, screaming warrior, covered in energon and ripping artlessly at tangled innards and burnt circuitry, it still bothered him more than he cared to say.

Perhaps the worst moment was when he was forced to watch a patient die after so long of trying to save a life.

A thousand time had Ratchet lived through the sensation of feeling life fade from a frame. No, it was probably more than a thousand times. Before the war, there were medics who could live their whole career without ever having a patient die on the table, because Cybertronians were a rather hardy species whose metal frames were hard to kill. But war had not been kind to anyone, and it brought death to the planet like a plague. Ratchet held sparks in his hands as they extinguished. He knew the feeling of the final whoosh of air that left a frame before the metal turned inert. He was all too aware of the devastation and rage and horror that would hit him like a megaton explosion straight to the spark when he realized that the joors he had spent trying to save a life, someone the orns he spent struggling, had been for nothing.

The most terrible thing Ratchet had ever been forced to acknowledge was that he could not save everyone.

For as many lives as he had saved, there were patients who still died.

It did not matter how skilled a medic he was. It did not matter the technique or the condition of the tools being used. Sometimes, nothing mattered at all because there were some patients who died anyways. Some of them went without a choice, their frames too damaged to survive any longer. They fought so hard and clung to life with both hands, only to eventually succumb to mortality.

Ratchet could not allow that to happen to the mech currently dying on his table.

"Fight, damn you!" Ratchet heard himself yelling. "Fight it, Hound!"

The mech that laid limply on the table gave no answer. He could not answer, thanks to the blasted paralytic virus Virus had pumped him full of. Thanks to that, Hound could not see, hear, or acknowledge any of his surroundings. On the one hand, it made it easier to work on his frame knowing that the scout was not able to feel any pain. He'd been through enough. On the other hand, it was rather difficult to inspire a patient to fight for their lives when they were nothing but a deaf, blind ball of energy trapped in a metal box.

"The spark should be removed into a life-support system. It is showing signs of stress," Perceptor intoned from his place at the helm of the berth where he monitored Hound's spark as well as dealt with the massive damages afforded to the bot's processor. Not only had he been physically tortured, it appeared that Nemesis had done his part to inflict considerable mental damages as well.

"If we had proper life-support for sparks, don't you think that's what I'd be doing right now?" Ratchet snarled.

"Then you will have to find some other way to stabilize his spark," Perceptor replied, not bothering to react to the CMO's volatility. He sounded disturbingly calm despite the garish scene that stretched out in front of him. "It cannot be left inside the sparkcase without it connected to the rest of the frame. It's weak and soon it will fade."

"I know that! What we need is more time. There too much damage... everywhere!" Stress lined the medic's faceplate. He was working on the main pump, trying to repair the major hole drilled into the side of it. In the best case scenario, he would have removed the organ and replaced it with a fully functional pump, but parts like that were scarce on Earth. Wheeljack would have to build another as soon as Hound's life didn't hang in the balance.

"I need help over here!" called Minerva, working frantically under the armour of Hound's right shoulder. "The structural supports are gone. His shoulder's collapsing!"

Ratchet rushed to the femme's aid, hands diving under the armour to hold it up while she thrust makeshift supports underneath to prevent the area from imploding. When the call had gone out to summon as medically-able bots to the med bay, she had come with alacrity, ready to held in any way possible. Ratchet was grateful for her added skill. She was as well practised in emergency surgery as he, and obviously she preformed well under pressure.

"There," she breathed, eyeing her handiwork with a hard stare. "That should hold up until I can get the energon lines untangled and reconnected to their proper distribution pumps."

"Be careful when you start reconnecting them to the pumps; empty them first. It looks like there's too much congealed energon in the lines to flow properly," Ratchet commanded.

Minerva frowned, nodded. "Yes, of course." Her fingers were small and delicate compared to a mech's, making it much easier for her to start untying the little bows that had been knotted into Hound's lines. "I can't imagine someone doing this to another living being. I've never seen the likes of it before."

"The damages?" Wheeljack questioned sceptically.

Minerva wrinkled her olfactory sensor, shaking her head. "No, I mean this kind of torture. Who ties energon lines into pretty little bows and braids circuitry together?"

"A sick glitch that's going to pay for this, that's who," Ratchet growled, giving a curt nod before returning to the main pump he had been dealing with. It was tricky business trying to solder a patch over the hole. There was too much energon laying around, too much potential to ignite a vital system. It was a surprise that nothing had gone up in flames already with the among of sparking wires dangling out of Hound's frame.

"We need more hands in here," Wheeljack cursed from the secondary table in the operating theatre. Minerva had taken the position he usually filled as second medic during emergencies, to which he was grateful. He was an engineer, better suited to shaping and building inanimate objects rather than living frames. His current task was to shape a sheet of temp plating into the right contours to fit over Hound's massive chest. Easy enough, though he wished Tungsten were present to assist him.

"That other medic could be in here," Minerva intoned. "The small green one."

"No!" Ratchet snarled, bristling. "She's done enough damage."

"This is no time to let your dislike of some little ex-Decepticon overshadow your core programming to do everything possible to save a life!" Minerva gasped in outrage. "She is a medic and she needs to be in here!"

"Virus is not a medic, she's a menace!" Ratchet exclaimed.

"She was first on scene to treat him. She's familiar with the injuries and what she did to stabilize him-."

"She's the one who shoved a Primus-damned virus into a dying mech's head just to get him to stop squirming!" Ratchet countered venomously.

Minerva jerked back, on the verge of returning Ratchet volatile mood with a tirade of her own. "The virus was to save this mech's life!"

"Snapping his neck would have done less damage," Ratchet barked. "If we don't get the virus removed from his systems, his spark will extinguish." He cut a hard look back to Perceptor. "How's his head looking?"

"No better than the last time you asked," the microbot replied darkly. "The extent of the damages is considerable. It is not that files have been corrupted or destroyed by physical means, either. I think Hound did this to himself."

"He damn well didn't do anything like this to himself," Ratchet rumbled.

"No, no, you misunderstand me," Perceptor snipped impatiently. "I've seen damages like this before. So have you. They are emotional damages. Wheeljack suffered a lesser form with his psychosis when he came planet-side."

"Hound has only been captive for five days. That isn't enough time to elicit such extreme damage," Wheeljack countered, clearly sensitive over the fact that his own self-inflicted issues had been brought up.

Perceptor's optics narrowed, a frown pulling the corners of his mouthplates down. "Clearly we are dealing with a bot who is not only a depraved physical torturer, he is adapt at psychological torture. Given what he forced Hound to do when last we saw him, I have no doubt there was plenty of fodder for him to use."

"The virus, Perceptor. How's the virus coming?" Ratchet demanded through clenched mouthplates.

"Better than the rest of the data," replied the microbot. "It's relatively easy to find and isolate. It's the only thing that doesn't appear irreparably damaged."

"Just purge it from his systems and reconnect the frame to the spark. Once you do that, keep him unconscious and moderate his vital functions on as low a setting as possible so we can still work with them."

"This would be easier if I had some assistance. I can't monitor everything at once," Perceptor exclaimed. "I need someone to monitor the spark while I focus on purging the virus."

"I'll monitor the spark," Wheeljack said, stepping up to the computer whose wires were spidewebbed around Hound's open cranium. A single cable ran directly to sensor adhered to the outside of the scout's sparkcase. The screen displaying all readouts showed a weakening trend in spark energy output- the spark was fading fast.

"Where the pit is Tungsten?" Ratchet growled, wiping the side of his faceplate with his wrist, only to smear energon across the metal. "He should be here by now."

"Never mind that," Minerva urged. "The patient is more important."

"Of course the patient is more important!" Ratchet spat a curse, more from frustration than anything else. Among all the bots that he saw on a regular basis, Hound was not even in the top ten. Hound was someone who had survived for eons off of luck and an unflappably bright disposition, managing to skirt by most major injuries by the gloss of his paint. Even when every possible outcome seemed dark, he was there with an offering of impossible optimism. Hound was someone who thrived on hope and joy; he radiated with the kind of untarnished life that should have been long dead from the war.

There were many bots who, even subconsciously, clung to Hound for his optimism. It was a taste of the peace that Cybertronian once possessed. Hound was a reminder that there used to be good times, and if they kept moving forward, there was the hope for good times again. He created a web around himself that drew bots in. He gave them a little bit of his spark through his kindness, his generosity. There were no bounds to Hound's ability to love, not even a species barrier. His short time on Earth had given him a family that he deserved. Hound possessed treasures that many Cybertronians longed to have for themselves; a home and people who loved him unconditionally. Not just a cold room and comrades.

If his spark extinguished, the world would be a darker place.

Ratchet knew for a fact that even with the best dampening programs in place, there were bots would would not recover. And for those who did not possess a dampening program... Chase was already on the brink from Mikaela's death, she wouldn't survive the destruction of the last vestige of family she had left.

"You have to live, Hound," Ratchet begged, cradling the mech's sparkcase as if the tiny ball of energy inside could hear him.

"Beginning purge," Perceptor announced. "Prepare for spark-frame reinitialization."

"Wait! Wait!" Wheeljack cried. "Something's wrong! Energy levels are plummeting!"

"Stop the purge!" Ratchet bellowed.

"I can't!" Perceptor exclaimed, fingers flying across the controls. "Something's preventing me."

"Circumvent it!"

Perceptor stared at the monitor in undisguised horror. "The sequence has been corrupted somehow! I can't access it anymore!"

Ratchet snapped into action. "Minerva, energon. Now. We'll immerse the spark."

The femme's faceplate bloomed with sudden hope. "That could work!"

"Only if we're quick," Ratchet said, listening to the frantic alerts blaring from Perceptor's monitor.

The femme was already whipping around to retrieve the stash of medical-grade energon. They had no time to be graceful about the procedure. Ratchet reached in and pried the sparkcase open. Inside was a flashing pearl of light, shining in evanescent shades of blue. The spark's distress was event in its manic flashing, the trembling of its body, the erratic pulse of its corona. It was weak, exhausted. It needed energy, a connection to the outside world. Hopefully the energon would be enough to stabilize it without overwhelming it.

Minerva poured in the first cube, letting the excess energon overflow into the surrounding machinery. The spark flickered, bubbling within the liquid energy.

"Purge thirty-five percent complete," Perceptor called out.

"Not enough," Wheeljack shouted. "Energy levels still dropping."

The announcement was unnecessary. With the spark uncovered, they could see Hound's life flickering out. Even energon, pure liquid energy, was not enough power to lend to the dying spark. Suspended in the translucent blue fluid, Hound's spark was like a little glowing bubble. A tiny star. It was the full and complete compendium of who and what Hound was, the essence of his entire life. No bigger than a human marble.

It flickered, desperate and panicked. Flickered again, dimmer now. Smaller.

Ratchet clutched at the sides of the sparkcase, willing Hound to live.

"Come on!" he begged. "You're stronger than this! You have to hold on!"

Even as the words tumbled from his mouthplates, he felt life seeping through his fingers. A gentle fading that came as the perceptible fading of warmth from the metal of the sparkcase.

Over his shoulder, Ratchet heard Minerva exclaim something. The words were muffled by the roaring in his audios. He did not think to turn around when his designation was called. He would not leave Hound until it was over. If the scout was going to die, then he wasn't going to fade alone. Ratchet was going to make sure someone was with him until the very end.

It was not until Wheeljack's hands grasped his shoulders, forcing him away, that Ratchet realized the reason his designation was being called. There was a sudden shift in reality as the CMO came to realise there was a human in the room.

"You," he breathed.

Sam stared up at him from the top of the berth, his expression grim like a mask. "Ratchet, I'm not going to let him die."

For a moment, all Ratchet could see was a flesh and blood man. Just a tiny human who was as insignificant in the universe as any other living being. He saw Sam Witwicky, average human man. A moment later, Ratchet realized his mistake. Sam had never been average a day in his life. Not even close. What made him especially extraordinary came to the surface like a storm unleashed. Power filled the air, crackling between molecules. Energy and awareness prickled down the CMO's armour, just as it did with every other Cybertronian present.

Sam's skin appeared to come alive with electric blue patterns writhing up over his arms and across his face. His eyes lost their human appearance, replaced by two shining blue stars. The air around him crackled fiercely, burning and sparking with fierce blue lightning.

Ratchet could not be sure of Sam's expression as the boy turned his back on his audience. It might have been a smirk, or maybe it was just grim determination. A single hand was raised to Hound's side, the highest point that Sam could reach on his own. The reaction was instantaneous, as physically felt as the rushing winds of a tornado roaring through the room. Whatever power had been stored inside of Sam rushed out with explosive force. A tidal wave of blue light washed over Hound, causing the frame to arch and buck with sudden life.

The lights overhead were overwhelmed by the ambient power, flickering out.

What filled the room in the blind silence that followed was the haunting melody of Cybertronian transformation. A miraculous sound. The only evidence that something incredible was happening.

"Sam?" Ratchet called out, unable to feel the Allspark's presence any more. "Sam!"

There came no answer.

Finally, the lights came back on. Ratchet gaped at the miracle which now laid quietly on the berth. Hound was whole again, physically at least. His frame had been restored to its former Cybertronian glory, shining forest green armour polished to a perfect shine. Powerful armour hale and whole. Strength returned to what had been a hollowed husk. There was no hint of the damages that had been there seconds before. Hound's faceplate was peaceful as he laid there, calmly existing in unconscious oblivion.

"Primus..." Ratchet reached for the scout, laying a hand over the broad expanse of his chest. Life beat strongly beneath his palm. A sparkbeat that pulsed determinedly, whole and beautiful.

A mild cough announced Sam's continued presence in the room. He was hunched over on his haunches, one hand fisted against his chest. His appearance had reverted back to its usual human facade with no outward evidence that anything extraordinary had just happened.

"That stung more than I thought it would," Sam grunted hoarsely. "Remind me never to do that again."

Ratchet felt his mouthplates open for something to say, then closed them again when no words seemed appropriate.

Sam continued to crouch on the berth, suffering from the aftereffects of using so much power. Not even soul-burn was enough to dampen the human's odd sense of humour. The corners of his lips turned up weakly. "Say something, Ratch'. You're starting to freak me out."

Compelled to say something, Ratchet settled for the first thing that came to mind: "It's good to have you back, Sam."


	34. To Death III

Long time no see, eh? Still working on my thesis, but I managed to work on this story during my breaks and whatnot. This chapter didn't _quite_ live up to my expectations, but that's only because I was comparing it to the awesomeness that is to come. It's like my dad always says – even my worst stuff is still most peoples' best work. XD Nevertheless, I do hope that all the readers who have stuck around this long enjoy the fruits of my fantastic fictional fervour. Because I'm awesome like that. =P

Thank you a million, billion times to the reviewers of the last chapter: **Alangrieal, CNightJoy, Kellie Witwicky, EmberLady, renegadewriter8, Flameshield, femme4jack, StarscreamII, Astadi, Faecat, Pruhana, Phoenix51, Mightnight Marquis, Frenzy5150, Gamemice,** and **Great Googlie Mooglies.**

You guys continue to remind me that fanfiction is way better than getting paid to do this. XD

**May We Never Let Go  
To Death III**

Sideswipe shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot as he peered up and down the long ward he and his brother had been commanded to stay in.

'_Well, it could be worse,'_ he thought idly to himself.

The med bay was not the brig, and as such it held certain advantages over a place specifically designed for punishment. The long, narrow recovery ward he and Sunstreaker were bound to was not empty, so they were not in lack of company. Virus was trapped with them, _literally_ trapped by Sunstreaker's position in front of the door to prevent her escape. She had answers that everyone needed, and no one wanted to take the chance that she might skitter off with them._ That_ particular scenario would likely end with her charging exorbitant prices for her knowledge once she was caught. While she was under no obligation to stay anywhere at the whim of an order, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were occasionally a little more flexible. Ratchet had instructed the them to keep Virus on lockdown until she could interrogated.

No one liked it, but Sunstreaker sat in front of the door and made sure Virus didn't scamper off.

Aside from the three of them, the ward also contained Flamewar, Barricade, and Roulette, all of whom had been recently affected by Sam's unusual generosity with the Allspark's power. Since their damages had not been anywhere near as severe as Hound's, and arguably most of the work had already been done by medics, Sam had not needed to do more than poke each them for their faculties be restored.

Unfortunately, their bad tempers had also been restored.

Flamewar's cursing rang off the walls as she paced the aisle, vowing her revenge on Nemesis Prime. The usual threats- immolation, decapitation, disembowelment. All the good classics. There were also a few creative threats that sounded a little like the fun stuff she used to do back in Kaon. Tear him apart, grind him up, and display his violated frame where everyone can see him. Real crowd pleasing stuff.

Also feeding her rage was the presumption of the Autobots to dare order any of ex-Decepticons around. There were only two at Carnéval who claimed the Autobot title, and Virus certainly was not one of them. Flamewar, for all intents and purposes, did not take kindly to anyone from the Autobots thinking they could order any of the Carnéval bots around. For what seemed like the first time in history, Flamewar was supporting Virus...in the most loud, violent, not-safe-for-work ways possible.

Sideswipe was oddly comforted by the promise of violence. It was a good feeling for him, helping him to calm down after the rush of what happened with Hound. Maybe he should be worried that the promise of violence had such a comforting effect on him, but at the moment he wasn't overly concerned. It was just..._nice_ to be around normal things like yelling and swearing and threatening. Sunstreaker was not so much calmed by it, but instead let it wash over and around him him like a tide. It was just white noise to him.

"I can't believe they would just presume to lock you away in here like some glitch!" Flamewar seethed, spinning on her heel and breezing by Barricade as he reclined on his berth. Among them all, he appeared to be enjoying the show the most.

Virus peered up from behind Roulette with a scrunched faceplate. "You can't believe it? I can. The Autobots have never been that smart."

Sideswipe raised his hand. "Autobot right here, femmes."

They ignored him.

"Treatment like this will only make my information more expensive for them. It's simple rules of trade, really. They want something, they can pay for it." She snorted through her vents. "They can retrieve what they want out of my dead frame if need be."

"I'll ignore how appealing that sounds," Flamewar huffed dryly. "My main problem is how they're keeping you in here. Ordering Sunstreaker to stand like a guard-dog at the door? It's insulting. He's one of us, for spark's sake!"

Sunstreaker revved lowly, shifting his weight. "I'm technically still on duty as an Autobot, Flamewar. So is Sideswipe," he intoned. "We didn't have much of a choice to stay here and watch her. Ratchet's orders."

"You took orders from the _medic,_" Flamewar sneered. "You're taking orders from that incompetent, hot-tempered, short-sighted, sparkless blowhard."

"My thoughts exactly," Virus agreed airily. "What do they accomplish by keeping me here? Where do they honestly think I'll go? It's not like I can hop on the first flight back to Moose Wash."

"I don't know where you might go, but please don't test the theory," Sunstreaker said, levelling her with a heavy stare. "If you run, I will catch you. You may not like what I do to you then."

Virus bristled, harrumphed, and went back to distracting herself with Roulette's checkup.

Sideswipe chuckled, casting a glittering look in Barricade and Flamewar's direction. "Methinks there was double entendre hidden in my brother dearest's words. What might Moonfly not like Sunny doing to her?"

"Me thinks there might be a fist in your faceplate if you don't mute it right now," Sunstreaker shot back.

Sideswipe laughed, letting the threat roll right off his armour. It was good to be amongst his own kind- the strange and the violent and the oddly misplaced... as strange as that might sound. In the last seven years since he had found sanctuary amongst the (ex)Decepticons of Carnéval, he and his brother had been made to feel more welcome than either of them had ever felt with the Autobots. He had more in common with the likes of Flamewar and than he did with bots like Prowl. It was more comfortable to be lost and confused with other bots who were lost and confused than to be singled out amongst a bunch of Autobots who couldn't quite understand where the Twins were coming from.

"Ohhhhh," Roulette breathed, looking excited. "Do I sense a clash of the brothers in the near future? Some hot split-spark twin action?"

"No," Sideswipe chirped quickly. "That's just Sunny's way of showing that he loves me - it's always with violent words. Isn't that right, my Sunny Sunflower?"

"Keep that up and it won't just be violent words," Sunstreaker warned, flexing his shiny claws.

"See, Roux? That's practically his way of saying he loves me!" Sideswipe grinned down at the rangy white femme next to him, her purple and yellow paint accents glinting under the fluorescent lights.

Roulette tossed her head back and laughed, a sound that was sharp and quick like the crack of a whip. It made Sideswipe happy to hear such laughter, and then made him a bit anxious. He had no clue if Roulette had been able to hear him while she had been in stasis. Was she laughing because she thought he was funny? Or laughing because she knew he was a sentimental fool and she was happy to stab him through the spark the first chance she got? Femmes could be like that, especially Decepticon ones - Flamewar had taught them all to play their cards close to the vest.

Roulette, for her part, was not making it easy for Sideswipe to figure anything out. She was too busy allowing Virus to crawl all over her, checking for the minutest evidence that the Allspark had managed to mess her up somehow.

A mild tingle in his sparkcase caused the red twin to glance up, catching Sunstreaker's glacial gaze. Although their bond was nowhere near as strong as it once might have been, Sideswipe could read Sunstreaker's humour clear as day.

_Say something to her_, Sunstreaker seemed to prod with the glitter of his icy optics and the tilt of his small smirk.

_I did just say something,_ Sideswipe shrugged.

_Say something more, half-bit_, Sunstreaker insisted wordlessly.

Sideswipe glanced back at Roulette, still busy serving Virus's medical demands. It had been easy to lay next to her while she was unconscious. He hadn't needed to fear reproach from her. A relationship between the two of them...it wouldn't work. Sideswipe just wasn't a relationship kind of bot. Well, he wasn't an_ emotional_ relationship kind of bot. _P__hysical_ relationship would work just fine- actually, it had been working just fine for as long as they had been using each other back at Carnéval. But an emotional relationship? No. No, thank you. That was something Sideswipe was not prepared for, and he wasn't sure Roulette would bother with something like that. She would likely kill him while he recharged instead.

When Sideswipe finally looked back at Sunstreaker, his twin's optic ridges were arched expectantly.

_No_, Sideswipe mimed with a pointed look.

Sunstreaker rolled his optics. He didn't need to say it for Sideswipe to know he was being called a _coward_.

_Hypocrite_ Sideswipe shot back, nodding to Virus's small slick form.

A moment of fluster and frustration crossed the golden mech's faceplate before he looked away. A low, stuttering rev drifted from his vents. It wasn't that he was a coward. Far from it. He just didn't know how he felt or where he stood with his ex-lover. They were both different. Maybe _too_ different. Plus there was that little thing of them both thinking the other had been dead for the last couple of eons.

Sideswipe knew he'd won the round, so celebrated with a hot smirk...right up until Roulette's hand brushed his back and sent a tingling wave up his neural circuits. He jumped away before he could think to do otherwise, and then cursed over the move. Not only was he usually much more suave with his exploits, it was just plain dangerous to show any sort of weakness in front of a Decepticon femme. They sensed weakness like heat-seeking missiles, exploiting it for fun. That was part of Roulette's appeal, actually. Sideswipe liked that little flavour of danger that came with her.

Roulette glanced up at him with a bemused look, her bright optics dancing like jewels amidst her oval faceplate. Her optics were one of her best features, large and sharp and fantastically advanced – perfect for focusing on targets at a long distance, and then sniping them like the highly-trained sniper she was programmed to be. Her cheeky expression revealed that her touch had been on purpose.

Virus hissed and muttered to herself, inspecting the movements of Roulette's right arm. She ducked around to the cerebral hookup on the back of Roulette's neck and then back again. "Alright, fine, that arm looks good. Now raise the other one – slowly. I want to see if there are any delays between relays."

"There's nothing wrong with any of my relays, or my hydraulics, or tension wires, or _anything_," Roulette insisted, though she did as commanded. Her right arm dropped and her other one rose, the tips of her claws caressing up Sideswipe's arm as she moved.

Sideswipe tracked the movement carefully. Roulette's optics gave away nothing of her intentions.

"Nothing wrong? We'll see about that," Virus spat, breaking the connection between the two bots.

"Can't you go look at Barricade? He still needs to be checked, and you haven't even bothered to look at Flamewar," Roulette whined, casting Sideswipe an exasperated look as if she meant to beg for help.

"I am not done looking at you. I'll look after the other two later," Virus snapped. "And stop looking at Sideswipe. He's not going to help you."

The accused and caught both jumped, followed by guilty laughter.

"Just lay still and let her do what she wants. It'll be over sooner that way," Sideswipe said, offering a handsome smile.

"Funny, that's the same thing I do for you," Roulette teased.

"Ouch, hit me right in the spark, why don't you?" Sideswipe exclaimed playfully, hand over spark as if wounded. "You don't trounce a bot's interfacing abilities in front of company, femme. That's just bad manners."

"Your ego can handle it. It's so big, I'm surprised you can fit in this room," Roulette laughed.

"_My_ ego? Oh please, it's nothing compared to my brother dearest," Sideswipe joked, tossing a look over at Sunstreaker, who scowled in displeasure to be brought into the conversation.

"Leave me out of this," grumped the golden mech...which only encouraged the others to prod the beast further.

"I don't know, Sides... I think it might be a close call between you and Mr. Personality over there." Roulette leaned back, but then yelped and quickly corrected her posture after a sharp warning prod reminded her that Virus was still back there.

"What? No way! I am a charming, amiable bot whom everyone loves and wants to be around," Sideswipe exclaimed with exaggerated pomp. "Sunny may be beautiful, but that's his only good quality. Everything else is just ego."

"Charming? You? Maybe only when you want to be, or if you wanting something," Roulette sniffed. "As I recall, you're at your most charming and amiable when you want something from _me_, and then afterwards you're more than happy to walk away."

"She's got you there, Sides," Barricade rumbled lightly. "You're a love 'em and leave 'em type. You don't stay any longer than it takes to shut your interface panel and walk out the door."

"Speaking from experience with him?" Flamewar wondered, arching an optic ridge.

Barricade coughed, refusing to make optic contact with her. "Not at all, but I know his type."

"Sure you do," Flamewar laughed.

Feeling the need to defend his honour to a bunch of dishonourable rejects, Sideswipe stood straight and flapped his arms usefully. "That's not true at all! I've been known to stay the night. I am a total romantic! I do wooing and presents and everything!"

"The gift of your company does not count as wooing and presents," Flamewar scoffed, leaning back against the nearest berth.

Sunstreaker offered a soft snort. "He seems to think that's enough."

Sideswipe puffed up, rounding on his twin. "Oh yeah? You're not much better! You don't even have a nice personality to make up for your ego."

"I don't need a nice personality anymore," Sunstreaker sneered, tilting his olfactory sensor up. "I'm good looking enough for it not to matter."

"He _is_ much more handsome than you are, Sideswipe," Virus agreed quietly.

"_That_ is a matter of opinion," Roulette riposted cheekily, winking for Sideswipe.

Sideswipe quirked an optic ridge. "I thought you weren't that satisfied with me."

"Just your ego," Roulette reasoned with a shrug. "It would make you so much more attractive if you weren't such a self-centred, self-serving glitch."

"_Heeeeeeey!_ When did this become a dressing down of all my qualities?" Sideswipe whined. "Would a self-centred, self-serving glitch stay with you every night while you were hurt? I dusted you off when you got dusty, I kept you company so you weren't lonely! I gave up fighting in a sparring tournament to hang out with you-!"

"_I knew it!"_ Roulette crowed, throwing her arms up in victory. "I knew it! I knew you'd been here the whole time!"

Sideswipe wheeled back, mouthplates gaping. "Wait, _what?_"

Roulette continued to celebrate. "I totally got you to admit in under ten breems flat! Ha! Ha! You're such a sap!"

Before Sideswipe could bluster a reply, or at least a very good excuse, there came a knock at the door. Sunstreaker stood, opening the door by the manual catch to reveal Nightbird standing in the hall. Her faceplate was solemn as she surveyed the ward with a quick sweep.

"The Autobots are requesting your presence, Virus. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are supposed to bring you."

"Did they say how they would like me delivered? Perhaps in stasis cuffs, or would they prefer a nice demeaning collar and chain?" Virus sneered.

Nightbird cocked an apathetic optic ridge. "Whichever way you prefer, I suppose. Just be warned, Prime's online again, and I don't think any of them want to hear bad news to ruin the moment."

* * *

"You know, space looks exactly the same on this side of the Space Bridge as it did on the other side," Skywarp observed idly.

"Were you expecting it to be different?" Sunstorm wondered idly.

"Yeah, a little bit," Skywarp admitted. "I mean, not _completely_ different – it's not like I was expecting the stars to be completely different colours or anything. Maybe just something distinctly different. Now that we're here, though..." His lounge seat next to the windows of the _Birds of Paradise_ observation deck gave him a perfect view of the solar system passing him by. "Is anyone else disappointed?"

"No," Thundercracker sighed. Like any normal Neo-Decepticon, he was busying himself with two things. The first being the fact that they were on their way to Earth, preparing to engage an enemy who no doubt would put up a very good fight and most likely kill them all. The second thing currently worth obsessing over was the fact that the delegation of Beta Zen Autobots were on their ship, walking their halls, and touching their stuff. It felt like the ultimate violation, and yet they all had to _deal with it._

Sufficed to say, the fashions of outer space simply did not register on Thundercracker's or anyone else major list of things to be concerned with.

"I think it's a _little_ different," Sunstorm offered cheerfully. "It's been my experience that every solar system has its own kind of spark that makes it different. It's just a matter of feeling it out for the personality."

"I guess," Skywarp sighed dubiously, watching Venus pass by. So far, it didn't look like this solar system had much of a personality.

Acid Storm rolled his optics. "Don't encourage him, Sunstorm. There are more important things we're dealing with in here. We don't need him daydreaming about out there."

"I can hear you," Skywrap said darkly, jerking around in seat to fix the other Seeker with a narrowed glare. "_And_ I can kill you."

Thundercracker glanced up from the ship's output metre being displayed on a data pad. "Don't let Starscream find out that you killed him."

Skywarp turned his olfactory sensor up. It was a given that if he killed someone, he'd be able to hide the evidence.

Acid Storm rolled his optics, not all that concerned with his possible impending murder. If everyone who promised to kill him had actually killed him, then he would have been dead more times than allowed by the laws of physics.

"All I'm saying is what does it matter what space looks like? We have much more important things to worry about," said the chemist.

"I know _that_. I was just trying to make idle conversation," Skywarp huffed. "It was too quiet in here. Starscream is taking too long to get back from his meeting with Ultra Magnus."

"There's a lot for them to discuss, so I would imagine their discussions would take a while," Sunstorm reasoned with a mild shrug, staring down at the tabletop scattered with many data pads. "It's nice that you tried to start a decent conversation, but perhaps now is not the right time?"

Skywarp seemed to accept that explanation, though he clearly did not like it. Actually, he did not like anything that was happening. He held more hatred for the Autobots than was probably healthy, and he had every reason to fear the chance of returning to the old regime of the Golden Age. He did not like the idea of being tried for war crimes by a bunch of self-righteous, pompous exhaust pipes and sentenced to a fate he had once suffered- stripped of his identity, reprogrammed into little more than an mindlessly obedient drone, and left to waste his orns at the mercy of the Research Core. Except this time around, there was going to be no Starscream around to save him.

"I'm surprised the Autobots didn't shoot us out of space for being raving lunatics," Acid Storm intoned airily. "If I had been approached with the same load of slag we brought to them, I probably would have shot everyone down and figured I was doing the universe a favour."

"I think I might have done the same, if it were not for knowing Starscream's, uh- fancy party trick," Thundercracker joked, careful to mention his brother's immortality. With so many Autobots on board, not to mention Neo-Decepticons who did not know the full story of what was going on, one never knew if there were eavesdroppers in the walls.

"I might have listened, maybe...I don't know. I mean, on the one hand, it does sound really farfetched that we're going after The Big Bad, but on the other, maybe it's no so farfetched? The universe is a big place, after all. Who's to say that we know everything there is to know," Skywarp chirped absently.

"It's not about knowing everything there is to know," Acid Storm sighed, scrubbing his faceplate tiredly with his palm. "It's about turning over everything we once thought we knew. I still hold on to everything I once knew, because I _don't_ want to accept that there are beings in this universe who cannot be defined by science. It's horrifying to know that they are exempt from every law of physics ever written. What's the point of rationality if it seems the very nature of the universe is irrational? I don't want to believe in any of it, and if I were in the Autobot's position, I would have shot us down in the first astrosecond."

"Whether or not you believe is relevant," Sunstorm said a tad tersely. "The universe and all the creatures in it exist irrespective of the rules and laws we have tried to impose in order to explain everything. Just because beings like Unicron do not make sense to us does not mean they cannot exist. The onus is on us to expand our understanding."

"So what about the Autobots?" Skywarp wondered. "Is the onus on us to expand their understanding too?"

"The Autobots were already aware of the more..._occult _aspects of our mission, which made negotiations with them much easier after you three left the room," Sunstorm intoned quietly.

Acid Storm arched a dark optic ridge. "They knew already? Of our mission specifically?"

"No, not that. They knew of the Fallen and Unicron, both of whom have been active on Earth as of late," Sunstorm admitted solemnly. "We had hoped to get there before _that_ happened, but..."

"We're just not that lucky," Thundercracker growled.

Sunstorm sighed and shook his head. "No, in that respect our mission is made that much harder knowing that the Fallen and Unicron are active. We stood a better chance of defeating the Unmaker if he had remained locked in hibernation inside Megatron." He sighed again, a soft sound through his vents. "And yet, I cannot help but think it is fortunate that the Autobots had encountered beings such as them. In a way, it is almost like the events leading up to this moment were meant to be."

"Meant to be a suicide mission, you mean? I've been thinking that since the start of this mess," Acid Storm drawled dryly.

"I didn't mean that," Sunstorm retorted irritably. "If the Autobots were not somewhat aware of the arcane forces we are up against, it would have been much harder to gain access to the Space Bridge. The fact that they _did_ know something of it is the whole reason we are on our way to Earth now. They accepted what we had to say and even accepted what Starscream is-."

Thundercracker suddenly surged to his feet, incredulity painting his faceplate. "Starscream showed them? He _told _the Autobots about-?"

"They asked, and he showed," Sunstorm admitted calmly. "It's not like we could deny them at such an integral time. We need their trust, and for Ultra Magnus and Jetfire to know what Starscream is now was the best show of trust we could give. Hopefully that trust will be returned."

"And if they let Starscream's secret slip to someone else?" Thundercracker riposted, hands curling into fists. "Say the Wreckers find out and they decide to test the theory of Starscream's immortality. What then, huh? We'll have anarchy on our hands before we even get to Earth."

"It won't come to that," Sunstorm countered crisply.

"How do you know?" Thundercracker pressed. "I don't care about this war or anything else, but I swear to whatever deities you pray to that if any of those damned Autobots try anything with Starscream-."

"Stop it, Thundercracker," Sunstorm cut in, rising to his feet to tower over the other Seeker. "I will not hear of this anymore. The Neo-Decepticons need to show a little more good faith in the Autobots if we are to win this impossible war."

"And what about their faith in us?" Thundercracker countered. "They have none! Not a single one of them trusts us, so why should I bother giving them a drop of trust in return? It was foolish of Starscream to give them his secret. Maybe it was even more foolish of the rest of us to think we could work with the Autobots. We're worlds apart from them-."

"We're the same species, fighting the same monsters," Sunstorm pointed out futilely.

"We might as well be different species, for all the things we _don't_ have in common," Thundercracker countered. "We've fought it each for eons without much problem, despite being from the same planet."

Acid Storm eased his chair back from the table, rising to his feet and cocking his hip against the ledge of the table. "I _hate_ the fact that I have to play devil's advocate here, but maybe it's time you stuck it in neutral, Thundercracker. There's no point yelling at Sunstorm for the choices Starscream's made. If we are to present a united front to the Autobots, then we have to at least show a little more faith in our leader than what we are showing now. Whatever our personal beliefs are, Starscream is still our commander."

Thundercracker's mouthplates lined into a tense frown, only to relent a moment later. "You're right, I guess. I trust Starscream, but that's about it."

"I'm with Thundercracker, then," Skywarp intoned. "Starscream is our trine mate, so we might as well back him up – even if it's for the most crazy, half-bit, suicidal thing ever."

Sunstorm primly resumed his seat with a huff, back straight and olfactory sensor turned up. "That is all good for you three, but if it is all the same, I think I will invest some of my trust in the faction who invited us to Earth and allowed us access through their Space Bridge. A little bit of trust would make this whole process go a little smoother."

The door at the far end of the observation deck hissed open, which the Seekers eagerly turned toward in expectation of their leader. However, it was not Starscream silhouetted in the doorway. Instead, it was the short, dark form of Dead End.

"Oh, it's you," Thundercracker murmured flatly.

Dead End did not offer any greetings in return. Instead, his attention was fixated elsewhere. The dull red glow of his optics flashed mutedly as his gaze travelled slowly across the floor, up the walls, and over the ceiling. Beyond the normal morose mask, the Stunticon looked curious. Maybe a bit suspicious.

"Where is the rest of your team, Dead End?" Sunstorm wondered politely.

"Elsewhere," Dead End replied heavily.

"Is there a reason you came here?" pressed the yellow Seeker.

"There is a reason," Dead End admitted. "I'm looking for it."

Amidst the stunned and vaguely confused silence he inspired for such a claim, Dead End wandered into the room. He zigzagged his way across the floor, almost in an inebriated manner were it not for the fact that he looked completely sober. The ceiling seemed to be the focus of his attention.

His movements were tracked by the four Seekers. While it had made sense for Starscream to have all of the gestalt teams accompany them to Earth, it was beyond the Seekers to understand why Starscream was showing so much attention toward Dead End. The bot had always been a freak. A really creepy, depressing freak.

Dead End finally came to a halt in the middle of the floor, not taking his optics off a certain place on the ceiling. Slowly, he raised his arm and let the mechanics rearrange themselves. A particle blaster came into being, which was subsequently charged and aimed upwards.

Despite shrieks for him to stop, Dead End fired several times into the ceiling.

Skywarp kicked off from his window seat to tackle the Stunticon to the floor, throttling him on the way down.

"_Have you lost it?"_ the Seeker swore, hands around Dead End's neck. "Are you trying to make the ceiling collapse?"

Dead End peered up without fear, not even bothered by the way the back of his head was being repeatedly smashed into the floor. He barely felt it.

"Not the whole ceiling," he said in between each strike. "Just part of it."

"Skywarp, stop! Stop! Look up!" Acid Storm yelled, pointing wildly to the bowing section of exposed ventilation shaft. Without the support of the ceiling beneath it to hold the thin metal shaft in place, its rivets popped and its brackets gave away under the weight of whatever was hiding inside. The metal stretched downward with a long, shrieking groan and a muffled curse.

"Charge 'em up," Thundercracker ordered as he himself charged his null rays. The heat of the tip burned through the bottom of the ventilation shaft, splitting it open and allowing the creature inside to crash to the floor with a scream. Confusion rapidly morphed into rage as Hot Rod the Autobot turned over and peered up into several sets of extremely angry red optics.

"Um...I can explain?" he quipped.

Skywarp pursed his mouthplates and shot Sunstorm a tight look. "What was that about trusting the Autobots?"

* * *

It seemed that in his absence, the world had been turned upside, all the rules had changed, and everyone sounded like they were speaking another language.

Optimus was not sure he understood anything now. The throbbing pain that had started up between his optics was not helping matters.

"This isn't good," Chromia intoned seriously, looking just as stunned and lost as the Prime and her sparkmate.

"No, it's not," Elita One agreed quietly, her small hands tightening around Optimus's wrist. She shuttered her optics and wished that she had somehow seen this coming so that she could have done something to stop it. _Why_ hadn't she known anything about it?

The sentiment was repeated on the faceplates of all those who were present. The expressions of the commanders gathered in the _Loki_'s hangar ranged from horrified incomprehension to optics full of storm clouds. Beyond the open hatch that led out into the dark of night, a small gathering of others had coalesced in honour of the Prime. Their nervously shifting feet threw plumes of dust into the stark shine of the hull lights, while their whispers were like ghosts in the night.

"Why would Bumblebee do something like that?" Ironhide croaked, and then cleared his vents of the dirt that had settled there. "He's smarter than this. We all taught him better than to surrender."

"Isn't it obvious? He gave himself up to give us time," Sam intoned hoarsely, anger adding an edge to the words. Despite the effort he had given to wake the Prime, Sam still resented him for his role in Mikaela's murder. If Optimus Prime had just let him go...if he had traded Sam for Mikaela's life... she would still be _alive_.

Optimus was perfectly aware of Sam's anger. There was nothing he could do for it, because the word '_sorry_' did not feel like it would cut it. Sam had every reason to be upset, angry, and a thousand other emotions. Optimus was resigned to endure Sam's silent wrath as punishment for his part in Milkaela's death.

"Bumblebee shouldn't have given himself up like he did, regardless of his reasons for doing so," Optimus sighed, pinching the bridge between his optics. His headache only seemed to get worse with every passing moment. "That was exactly what Nemesis wanted."

Jazz revved lowly, his arms crossed tightly over his chassis. "This is exactly the sort of thing we were trying ta prevent by keeping an optic on Bee." He fixed a blind glare in Virus's direction. "Ya could have stopped him."

"Theoretically, I could have," Virus replied neutrally. "Theoretically, I could do a lot of things."

"But in reality?" Jazz pressed tersely.

Virus inclined her head. "In reality, it was either let Bumblebee go, or allow myself to be terminated for interfering, in which case Hound would have died with no one there to treat him and you would have no clue as to where Bumblebee went off to." Her expression shifted, optics narrowing and mouthplates curling. "You're lucky I didn't bother to raise my prices for this interrogation. I don't appreciate being treated like a prisoner when I have done nothing wrong."

"This isn't an interrogation, Virus," Elita One assured quickly. "We're grateful for the information you've shared with us."

Jazz huffed quietly, his scowl remaining in place. "If you're holding anythin' back, Ah'd be happy ta make this an interrogation you'd never forget."

"You are welcome to try," replied the femme.

From across the cargo bay, Sunstreaker's low warning growl sounded.

Prowl interceded before Jazz could goad anyone into doing something stupid. He pressed a hand to the centre of his lover's chest to hold him back, casting Sunstreaker a warning look that promised retribution if he dared come after Jazz.

Sunstreaker simmered down quickly, settling heavily against the open hatchway of the hangar. Sideswipe stood with him, as tense as his brother. They didn't like how they had to be among their comrades still covered in Hound's energon. There had been no time to clean it off, and their appearance earned them a few too many sidelong glances and reproachful stares.

"I take it my presence is no longer required?" Virus enquired flatly.

"No," Optimus sighed. "You may go."

"Good," she sniffed, turning on her heel and skittering through the forest of legs toward the ramp.

Sunstreaker took that as his cue to leave as well, with Sideswipe predictably falling into step at his side. The crowd parted for them at the bottom of the ramp, not quite making optic contact with any of trio.

Prowl revved pointedly, causing several heads to turn his way.

"We have more pressing matters at hand," the tactician reminded everyone. "We all understand how dangerous Bumblebee is. He's been trained by each of us, he knows our strengths and our weaknesses. Nemesis will find a way to exploit those qualities. He will use them against us."

"He may turn Bumblebee himself against us," Mirage intoned. "That has probably been the plan from the very beginning. What better way to strike at us then to do so from our very sparks? With as much attention that Nemesis has given Bumblebee, I doubt he means to torture him the same way he did to Hound."

"You mean we should be prepared to face Bumblebee on the battlefield," Ironhide rumbled darkly. Devastation lurked in his deep set optics.

"That is exactly what I mean," Mirage sighed.

Chromia laced her fingers together, propping her elbows to her knees and resting her chin atop her laced fingers. "It's a perfect tactic," she admitted. "We won't want to fight one of our own."

"Maybe we won't have to," Ratchet intoned. "If we retrieve Bumblebee from Nemesis, then he can't be used against us."

"That would require us knowing where he is," Mirage pointed out, arching an optic ridge.

"Hound has been to Nemesis's lair," Ratchet replied. "Once Hound comes back online, I can see if any of his memory files contain anything useful. There's a chance I can triangulate a location."

"Ah can help with that," Jazz offered.

Ratchet accepted with a grateful nod.

"And in the meantime?" Red Alert wondered anxiously. "We still have Autobots arriving from all over the globe, plus the _Neo_-Decepticons will be within our atmosphere within the week. There are still energy leech attacks being reported and we can't keep fielding the human media forever."

"I can't appear on television anymore, either," Sam sighed, looking down at his hands. "Look at me. I think I'm more likely to start a mass panic than I am to reassure that everything is fine." He huffed a dry, humourless laugh. "Goodbye Ambassador Witwicky."

The Cybertronians had not missed the changes. Blue light flickered under Sam's skin in the pattern of the sigils he had dreamed of. The blue light of his eyes was more pronounced, as was the energy signature radiating from him. Even now as he spoke, it was Cybertronian words to fall from his lips. His activities throughout the night had made the burning inside him progressively worse, and now he felt like hot coals had been stuffed into his ribcage in place of his organs. The Allspark's energy was nearly done burning a hole straight through him. There was no chance that a camera crew was going to miss his less-than-human appearance.

"We'll have to find another representative," Ratchet said briskly.

"Simmons would be adequate," Prowl offered.

"Simmons is busy handling coverups," Elita countered briskly. "Blaster and his symbiotes will handle the media, as per our usual arrangements. If you require to impersonate Sam..." She paused, glancing at the human in question.

"Go for it," Sam sighed.

Elita nodded. "Impersonate him at your discretion, but be careful. If the humans are looking for more than just a comment on our recent activities, then they will have to wait. I will make myself available to them as soon as possible."

Blaster arched an optic ridge. "You?"

"Yes, me," Elita confirmed. "I am not as recognizable as a public figure as Optimus, but in this case I will avail myself to the public so that Optimus may focus on more pressing matters." She turned her chin up a fraction. "I am sure the media would be impressed to finally have words with the elusive sparkmate to the Prime."

"It'll be a media circus," Blaster warned.

"I can handle it," Elita One assured.

Optimus shifted his free hand to lay atop of the small hands that circled his wrist. There were no words to describe how proud he was of his mate to have come so far in the last few days. Elita felt his pride, allowing herself to soak it up and be bolstered by it.

"As for the leech attacks, we will have to do our best to keep up with them. They're far less frequent now than they were before, which is in our favour for the time being. Nemesis is banking on his victory with Bumblebee, so he probably does not have as much time to oversee the attacks as he once did." Elita cycled air, looking determined. "As for the the new arrivals, keep doing as we have been. Continue to set up rooms for them in the barracks. Make sure they are comfortable and up to speed with what it happening."

"And Starscream?" Red Alert insisted cautiously.

"Starscream is coming on my invitation," Elita One replied. "He and his crew will be given every courtesy that we would show our own faction. They are coming to help, and I have a feeling that we will not be sorry for their added firepower."

Ironhide revved deeply, optics flashing. Chromia laid a steady hand to his knee to keep him quiet. They were just two bots on a long list of Autobots not liking Elita One's decree to bring the Decepticons to Earth.

Elita One spared a brief moment to lock gazes with the weapons specialist, winning when Ironhide turned his gaze away. She turned back to the commanders watching her, noting that their backs had straightened and their stances at attention. She was no longer acting-Prime, but damn if she didn't still wield the power.

"Does everyone understand the plan?" the femme asked.

A smattering of curt nods and a handful of shallow bows ensure that, yes, everyone understood the plan.

"Good," Elita said. "I realize we have all been looking forward to having Optimus, Ironhide and Chromia back, but there is no time to celebrate now. We will celebrate after we win, when we will _really_ have something to celebrate."

Jazz huff a laugh. "Ah like the sound of that. Ah'll hold ya ta that promise, Elita. You'll be partying with the rest of us." He eased away from the wall and nudged Prowl. "C'mon, we still got some airlines ta arrange."

Prowl nodded, taking the saboteur's arm to thread through his own. Jazz did not object to the treatment, instead smirking and whispering something in the tactician's audio which made Prowl sputter.

"If anyone needs me, I will be off base collecting someone," Mirage announced.

"Who?" Elita wondered.

"Chase," Mirage murmured. "I assume she would want to know if Hound were back, dead or alive." He transformed in the hangar, driving out down the ramp and summoning Punch along for the drive.

In short order, the commanders left to their own tasks and the crowd that lingered around the _Loki_'s struts dispersed quietly.

Ratchet stayed, watching the Prime with concern shining in his optics. "I can tell your head hurts."

"It's nothing, old friend," Optimus assured. "Too much has happened in too short a time. I am still adjusting."

Ratchet eased back, hands to his hips. "Well, I can't do nothing for that, but I can give you something to ease the headache."

"Thank you, but no," Optimus said.

"Don't say I didn't offer," Ratchet shrugged, turning on his heel to quit the _Loki_ and return to the med bay for a quick checkup on Hound.

Elita stood, tugging her mate to his feet. She then noticed one last small figure waiting for them.

"Is there something else you'd like to say, Sam?" she wondered.

The human peered up at them, and then down at the business card pinched between his fingers. The embossed gold letters for _L. Morningstar_ glinted in the light cast by the human's eyes.

"There are a lot of things I want to say," Sam finally said. "I didn't think it was right to say them in front of a crowd...at least not yet."

Optimus stared down at the boy mournfully. "You're angry with me."

"Yeah, I am," Sam admitted grittily. "I know I shouldn't be angry with you, but I can't help it. Mikaela was... I loved her. I would have done anything for her." His blue eyes were bright as glassy as he met the Prime's stare. "If only you'd let me go..."

"Nemesis would have found some other way to hurt you, to hurt _all_ of us," Optimus said solemnly. "It was not an easy decision for me to make. How could I choose between the two humans who helped save the world a decade ago? I counted Mikaela as one of my friends, and now I mourn for her. There are no words for me to tell you how sorry I am for the part I played in her death-."

"I don't think I need to hear words. I'm going to be angry no matter what you say," Sam croaked. "I don't want to forgive you, either. It was hard enough fixing Hound after what he did, but I fixed him because it was the right thing to do. It's the right thing to forgive you, and I have to do it now because time is running out." A trail of electric blue leaked from the corner of his eye, running down his cheek and dripping off the edge of his jaw. The energon landed on the white business card. Instead of catching fire, the card briefly glowed before absorbing the liquified energy. No one noticed the unusual occurrence.

"What do you mean time is running out?" Elita murmured, crouching to the boy's level.

"I mean that..." He took a deep, shuddering breath to steady himself, because the words made him feel sick inside. He clenched his hands so hard that his knuckles bleached white, the devil's business card crumpling into an illegible mess.

"I mean time is running out – for me. I know you've noticed the changes. The Allspark is doing things to me... and it's also taking pieces of me away. I don't know if I have weeks or days...maybe I only have hours left. I don't know."

Optimus knelt, reaching for the boy. "Sam-."

Sam brushed the large hand aside. "I know I should have told you sooner, but I was scared. Now I can't be scared anymore. I have to man up...or Allspark up, I guess. If we're going to do anything to get Bee back and kill Nemesis, then we have to do it soon. I'd like to see Bumblebee one last time before I die."


	35. To be Free

Don't ask where this chapter came from. You don't want to know. *Dies inside from writing this when I should have been doing other things*

Thanks so much to the amazing reviewers of the last chapter! You guys totally surprised me with your awesome reviews! It's always nice to be reminded that there are loyal readers out there who make writing stories like these worth it! Thanks so much to **Gamemice, Ciel, Flameshield, renegadewriter8, Kellie Witwicky, CNightJoy, Anodythe, TransformersLover95, femme4jack, StarscreamII, Phoenix51, Astsadi, FORD B,** and **SafaiaFureia**. All of you… wow. I really can't express how much I appreciate all the effort and kindness you put into your reviews. I love you guys- in a totally platonic way.

**May We Never Let Go  
To be Free**

It was barely before dawn when Mirage pulled around the large holographic rock formations that hid the Banes' household. The darkness of night had yet to loosen its hold over the desert, casting all shapes in shades of gloom. The familiar house and garage setup Hound had designed for himself and his humans were unchanged in appearance, still as dusty and primitive-looking as ever.

It was the tone of the property that had changed. Where once the air had carried a stubborn pride and a strange welcome, there was now emptiness and desolation.

Mirage resumed his bipedal mode and took a quick survey of the property. He sensed the movement of nocturnal animals and he felt the glinting eyes of little vermin watching him from their burrows. Dirty little carbon-based sacks of meat. No matter how Mirage might try to put effort into seeing past Earth's many faults, he would never see what Hound saw in the organic world. To him, it was still a primitive world filled with primitive things. Toleration was all he could offer.

A more concentrated scan of the area revealed Raoul Mendez was asleep in his loft above the garage. Chase Banes registered on his scanners as drunk with a 0.10% blood-alcohol content. She was downstairs, not moving, and Mirage could only assume that she was unconscious somewhere between the living room and kitchen.

It was not hard to figure out that Mikaela's death had struck the woman hard.

Mirage still held very little respect for humankind, about as much respect as he had for their vermin. If there was only one human he might come to tolerate with some degree of…acceptance, it might be the one whom Hound had deemed worthy. Though it was hard in present circumstances to understand what Hound had ever seen in the Earthling in the first place. All she seemed to do with her life was reject those who wished to become close and kill herself slowly with her liquid poisons.

By all accounts, she was damaged goods and a waste of time.

Hound's spark was too big for his own good. He let all the wrong ones in.

It was out of respect for Hound that Mirage came every night to make sure Chase had not managed to kill herself – purposefully or accidentally. He did not make his presence known on most nights, because he knew he was not welcome. No one was welcome here, Chase made that clear. She wanted to be left alone in her misery. She wanted the whole world to leave her alone.

Tonight, Mirage wasn't going to give the human a choice but to accept unwanted company.

"This is where you were taking me?" Punch wondered sceptically, still in his alt mode.

"Yes," Mirage replied coolly.

The Autobot came to his feet slowly, working out the kinks in his frame that had been inspired by the bumpy ride from the highway. His fluorescent yellow-orange paint was restored to its bright glory, his posture straight and confident. Counterpunch's shadow no longer loomed over him. He looked restored, reset, rebooted – as good as he had been before Jazz had sunk his claws in and ruined a perfectly good agent. Unfortunately, Punch's memory was still spotty and his files were riddled with holes. He was not yet fit for battle or any form of duty. Mirage was not disheartened; he was glad for Punch's company.

"I remember this place, I think," the Autobot murmured. "I have been here, haven't I?"

"Most likely," Mirage reasoned. "Many Autobots used this place as a salon of sorts. The proprietors may be primitive, but they could hardly screw up a proper washing and detailing."

Punch nodded, peering around himself more closely as if to find some evidence of his past visits. Anything to jog his memory, possibly recover lost files. "You mentioned that we are here for one of the proprietors?"

"Someone called Chase."

"A human?"

"Yes."

Punch hesitated, and then asked, "Why?"

"She is...Hound's exclusive."

The name did not register with Punch, though that was hardly a surprise. What did come as a surprise was the admittance of the human's relationship with Hound. An exclusive was a rather intimate title to have. If Punch recalled correctly, Mirage had been Hound's last exclusive, _and_ he had never had a very high opinion of organics. It must have been a major blow for Mirage to have his ex-lover shack up with one of the Earthlings.

"Wipe that look off your faceplate," Mirage ordered sharply.

Punch startled at the brisk address. "What look?"

"The one that says you're wondering how I took Hound becoming involved with a human," Mirage replied tightly.

"I'll try harder to hide my incredulity in the future," Punch replied dryly. "But while we're on the subject...?"

Mirage turned his olfactory sensor up. "If you must know, I did not take it well. I still do not approve of the relationship."

"Then why are we here?" Punch wondered.

"Because I respect Hound too much to do otherwise."

A sudden muffled crash came from within the nearby dwelling. The sound of glass breaking. Wood screeching against wood. Muffled cursing drifted up to the Cybertronians' sensitive audio receptors. It appeared that Chase was not as unconscious as Mirage first assumed.

"Wait out here. I will get the human." A moment later, Mirage's optics flickered and his consciousness was transferred to the matrix of holo-matter solidifying itself inside the Banes' house. He blinked, shook his head to clear it, and then peered down at himself in his new form. He then diverted his gaze. Best not to remind himself how repulsive he looked in this form.

A quick sweep of the living room confirmed that his human quarry was nowhere in sight. The room itself was a cluttered mess of cups, plates, stale food, and a scattering of blankets and clothes. One might assume that Chase could be easily hiding beneath the mountains of debris, though the lack of life signs indicated otherwise.

A long, low groan carried over from the darkened dining room between the kitchen and living room.

Mirage navigated through the mess to the source of the noise, pinpointing Chase's dark form amidst the shadows of pre-dawn. Two chairs lay askew across the floor, surrounded by the garbage that had been knocked off the table with them. Chase had recovered from her fall, backed against the leg of the table while she clutched her foot. The darkness hid the thick rush of blood that spilled from her sole. A large shard from the broken glass remained lodged in the flesh.

Being as inebriated as she was, Mirage was surprised Chase felt any pain at all. She surprised him further by acknowledging his presence.

"Enjoying the show?" she slurred angrily, sniffing back a wad of saliva. She wiped at her mouth and left behind a long smear of her own blood.

"Come to think of it, _no_," Mirage replied, flicking on the overhead light to flood the room with a golden glare. Perhaps he should have left the light off, because Chase certainly did not look better with the lights on. If she had bothered to eat in the last five days, it did not show in the gaunt lines of her body. Her black eyes were ringed with bruises, while the whiteness of her eyes disappeared beneath a reddened wash. Her clothes were wrinkled and dirty, smelling of stale beer. Tangles of her hair hung limply around her pained face.

Now able to see properly, Chase turned her foot up and jerked the large shard of glass out. A brief inspection of the offending shard resulted in her muttering a low curse at it, and then she set it aside with a noise of disgust.

Mirage watched the progress of the human's blood as it pooled on the wood, sliding down the grooves between each hardwood slate.

"I was just getting a glass of water," Chase coughed, leaning back and closing her eyes.

"I didn't know water came in vodka flavours," Mirage commented coldly, stooping to collect the thick bottom portion of the glass that had not shattered. It dripped with something whose alcohol content was significantly higher than water.

Chase did not dignify the comment with a response. She didn't owe the Master Spy any answers. She didn't owe him anything.

Mirage stood over her with a blank expression, refusing to deign his hologram more life than necessary. He saw no need to appear more humanlike than absolutely necessary. The only thing he could not hide was the antipathy he held for the creature at his feet.

"Did you plan to drink yourself to death?" he asked.

"Is it any of your business if I did?" Chase slurred.

Mirage internally sneered down at her.

"Just go away," she groaned, as if able to sense his disgust through her inebriated haze.

"And leave you here to rot?" Mirage wondered coldly. "I can't tell you how tempting that would be, but I can't do that." He ignored the crunch of glass underfoot as he made his way to Chase, crouching in front of her.

"Sure you can," Chase sneered. "It's easy. Just back the fuck up and get the fuck out. Don't look back."

Mirage rested his elbows on his holo-matter knees. He did not like using his hologram for domestic purposes like this. Truthfully, he could count the number of times he had been required to do something like this on one hand. His holographic projectors had been configured for maximum reflective mimicry camouflage; he could make himself practically invisible to the organic and inorganic optic. Pretending to be human was the last thing he wished to do.

He stared down at Hound's exclusive until she was forced to open her eyes and acknowledge his presence.

"Why aren't you gone yet?" she growled.

"I am not leaving without you."

"And I'm not leaving with you." Her movements were uncoordinated from the amount of alcohol flooding her system. With great effort, Chase lurched to her feet and managed to stumble a step before banging her hip into the table. She barely budged, but the table legs shrieked a couple inches across the floor. Her feet smeared in the pools of blood, causing her to lose her footing and fall again. Like an injured animal, she curled up on herself and groaned.

Mirage rocked to his feet and stared down at the creature with undisguised disgust. It was beyond him how Hound could tolerate such a being.

"Your foot is still bleeding," he pointed out flatly, to which Chase hissed something under her breath.

"Fine. I suppose I will have to take matters into my own hands," the Master Spy sighed, sparing no pity as he reached down and snared Chase by the waist. Swearing fell from her mouth as she was hauled upward. Her ineffectual shoving and writhing did nothing to sway Mirage from turning her weight over his shoulder. He spun on his heel and headed for the kitchen.

"Why can't you go away?" Chase groaned, barely able to put up a fight. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"Because I am not here for you or myself." He dropped her next to the sink, only to startle when a wretched yowl erupted from her. He jerked away before her fist made contact with his cheek. About to shriek a Cybertronian curse, he choked on the words when he realized the reason for her sudden bout of violence. Chase twisted around with a snarl and yanked out the fork that speared her left arse cheek.

"_This,"_ Chase snarled, brandishing the bent utensil under Mirage's holographic nose, _"is not the correct way to sober someone up!" _

Mirage stared at the fork for a moment, and then smirked. "Perhaps not, but it does appear effective."

Grateful for fast reflexes and an ability to disassemble his holomatrix, Mirage rearranged himself just in time to avoid the speeding fork aimed for his head. It was consequently embedded in the wall behind him by one of its bent prongs. It appeared Chase still retained her uncanny strength despite her obvious intoxication.

"As always, it is _such_ a pleasure dealing with you," the Master Spy sneered.

Chase waved her middle fingers in the air. As a human gesture, it might have been offensive. To Mirage, he thought she looked ridiculous.

"Before I decide that coming here wasn't worth it, tell me where you keep your repair kit," he sighed.

"My _what?_"

"Your...first aid kit."

Chase drew back, her face twisting into an incomprehensible expression. "Why the hell would you need that?"

"Your foot is still bleeding," Mirage pointed out, nodding to the aforementioned bleeding appendage. "There's so much ethanol in your system that your blood isn't clotting properly. It needs to be treated before we go anywhere."

Chase stared down at her foot as if surprised to see a wound there at all. She had forgotten about the glass. The sight of her bright red blood oozing over the pale brown surface of her sole transfixed her. The spark behind her dark eyes that had briefly flared after the fork had speared her buttock dashed out into dull coal.

"Mikaeka didn't bleed when she died," she mumbled absently. Her toes curled, the arch of her foot flexing so that the wound gaped and stretched like a mouth. A tear leaked from the corner of her bloodshot eye. "All the people I know never bled when they died. They just..._bang._"

"Chase," Mirage intoned sharply, catching her attention. "Where is your first aid kit?"

"Upstairs, under the sink," she replied dully, scrubbing a tired hand over her face. Even more blood smeared across her russet skin. Her fingers tangled in her unkempt hair.

Mirage disappeared with a faint crackle of static, materializing in the upstairs bathroom attached to Chase's quarters. It was...dirty. Despite the raging desire to not touch anything, Mirage nudged open the under-sink counter with the tip of his foot. A square white box with the ubiquitous red cross was exactly where Chase said it would be. He backed out of the room and down the stairs, pausing at the front door to stick his holographic head out and inform Punch that it would be a moment longer before they left. Punch did not seem overly concerned, promising to wait for as long as it took.

Stepping into the kitchen, Mirage startled for the second time. Chase was wielding a pair of scissors, though the blades were not pointed at him. She had turned the scissors on herself. Most of her hair laid in tangles on the counter around her.

"You cut your hair," Mirage observed quietly, unsure what to make of it.

"I couldn't get my fingers untangled," Chase admitted distractedly, finishing the last snip to her impromptu trim. A small cascade of black fell silently into the sink. "Been meaning to get a haircut for a while... Guess this is cheaper."

"I imagine you will regret it when you're sober," Mirage huffed dismissively, sweeping the counter free of hair before setting down the first aid kit with a definitive click.

"Maybe," Chase sighed, running her fingers through her now sheared-off locks. What was left on her head was ragged and uneven, hanging in chunks around her chin and ears. She stared off into the distance over Mirage's shoulder without looking directly at the hologram. A couple of stray tears leaked down her cheeks.

Mirage deigned her silence as invitation to treat her foot. All of his most basic programming rebelled against the actions he was taking. He should never bow to an organic. Never have to touch one, let alone repair one. But he knew this was not for himself, so he persevered. He dragged over a chair from the dining room and sat upon it to better inspect the foot, cleaning it with the bottle of peroxide provided in the kit and wrapping the wound with white gauze and medical tape.

By the time he sat back from the chore, he realized Chase had sobered enough to watch him. He caught her watchful stare and paused to return it, seeing himself reflected back in the depths of her obsidian eyes. She didn't blink under his scrutiny. For a moment, Mirage imagined that he saw the qualities in Chase that Hound had become so infatuated with. Then she blinked and the moment passed.

She took her foot from his grasp and inspected it carefully.

"You said this wasn't for me," she mumbled.

"It is not," Mirage replied, pushing away from her. He packed away the supplies into the kit and threw away the used material.

"Who's it for?"

"Hound. He's back."

Chase jerked back as if struck by an electric current. Her face reflected a thousand things, fear most of all.

"_How?"_ she croaked.

Mirage's lips firmed into a tight line. "That's not important."

"Is he...okay?"

"He is now."

Chase nodded, gulping back air and appearing as if she would vomit into the sink at any moment. There was just too much hitting her at once. Hound… Oh gods, _Hound_. She wasn't prepared for this at all. She wouldn't be prepared even if she had a hundred years. Her heart raced, blood pounding in her ears. Her stomach clenched tightly as all her mind could see were those last moments of Hound's shoulder mount spewing plasma directly at Mikeala's broken body.

"Chase-."

"I can't go see him," she bit out, fingers clenching so hard around the edge of the counter that her knuckles bleached. "Not now. It's too soon."

Mirage tipped his chin in the air. "You make it sound like I'm giving you a choice."

* * *

An airport had never looked so good as the one that was about to take Mikaela home. Even under the dark grey overcast sky, Detroit Metro Airport was a bright beacon of transportation. A symbol that Mikaela was only hours away from landing in Tranquillity and finally being _home_.

It was just... going home had never felt so important. Her chest felt tight and her heart thumped against the inside of her ribcage. Her fingers tingled and the little hairs on the back of her neck stood up. All week, she had been stuck between feeling amazed, grateful, horrified, worried, and a thousand other things...and now all those emotions were hitting her at once. It was so hard to believe that it had been nearly a week ago when she had been facing down her own death, saved by the most unlikeliest saviour, and found friends in the pair of women who had hit her with a car.

Was it supposed to feel like an entire lifetime had gone by?

God, what was she supposed to say when she finally got home?

All her friends, all her family...they still thought she was dead. Sari, Miko, and Mikaela had all made a pact not to contact anyone on the Earth Defence Command Base. There was no telling who could be listening. If the wrong person overheard that Mikaela wasn't as dead as she was supposed to be... Well, they assumed that Bad Things would happen. So there had been no contact with Sam, not with Chase, nor Optimus Prime or Bumblebee. Complete radio silence. Mikaela herself had not been allowed out in public since Dr. Annan had released her into Sari's care. Upon being dischargedl, she had stayed at the heiress's apartment suite at the top of Sumdac Tower.

How easy was it to come back from the dead? Not _literally_ come back from the dead, which Mikaela assumed was a tad harder than what she was doing, but would it be difficult for the people who had already mourned her to _un_mourn her? Would they believe her story when she showed up? What if they had already had her funeral? What a creepy thing it would be to come back home and know that somewhere out there was a grave site already dedicated to her.

And then there was poor Hound! It was killing her knowing that he was still with Nemesis. Hound was a warrior, he was strong, and he was trained for this sort of thing, but no matter the knowledge that he had survived eons of war, he was still a part of Mikaela's family and she worried for him. He was still her adoptive father in a a very real and official Cybertronian sense, after all. He was a good bot who didn't deserve what he was going through! Mikaela could only image what personal torment he was serving himself up with thinking that he was the one who pulled the trigger on her. There was no place in Mikaela's heart that blamed him for what happened in the desert, and if she could tell him that right that very second, she would.

She wished harder than she ever had in her life that the Autobots were doing everything they could to get him back.

And yet she was still haunted by the 'what if's'. _What if_ Hound was dead already...?

Stinging heat rose up in Mikaela's throat. She swallowed it down, and then dabbed at the corner of her eye with the slate-grey sleeve of her fitted silk suit.

"Hey, crazy lady," Miko called from the front seat of the SUV. The moving vehicle slowed to a stop and she switched off the engine in the long term parking lot.

Mikaela sucked in a startled breath, eyes darting to the rear view mirror to see Miko watching her. Sari's bodyguard had not missed Mikaela's tears. She was like a ninja or something, able to see everything. A very loud, goth-punk ninja.

"You okay?" she asked, concern lurking behind her liberal coating of black mascara.

"Nervous," Mikaela admitted, fingers tightening into fists. "Happy. Terrified. A little bit of everything, I suppose."

"It's okay to be nervous," Miko replied, unbuckling herself to turn around in her seat. She was similarly dressed as the first day Mikaela had met her, with her black leather clothing and a face full of piercings and dark makeup. Several days of getting to know her made the makeup a little less frightening, though her attitude still needed a lot of adjusting. "It's natural to be nervous. Everyone you know thinks you're dead. In a couple of hours, you're going to be facing them down and trying to convince them you're not a zombie or a ghost. If I were you, I'd totally be freaked out."

Sari lightly face-palmed from her seat next to Mikaela. There was no better bodyguard in the business than Miko, but a comforter Miko was _not_.

Mikaela drew in a deep breath and pushed aside her tears. Time to buck up and have a spine; weakness would not be tolerated when she was so close to going home.

"If I was you," she said, fixing Miko with a pursed look, "and I had to look in a mirror looking like _that_, I'd totally freak out too."

"Ohhhhh, _snap_. Are those cat claws coming out? Girl fight!" Psi cackled from his seat up front. Shotgun was the only seat he deigned to sit in, because any seat named after a weapon was perfect for an evil demon-spawn like him. His current chosen manifestation was his typical mechanical monstrosity that vaguely resembled Ridley Scott's _Alien_ franchise. He bounced up and down excitedly, clapping his clawed hands like any toddler would.

Mikaela was the only one who could see or hear him, and she had grown so accustomed to the Chaos Bringer's presence that she could ignore most of his irritating outbursts.

"Hey, I was trying to be nice to you! I can't believe you just dissed my makeup!" Miko exclaimed, though she hardly looked insulted. Actually, she looked relieved that the tears were gone.

"I'll diss anyone who dresses like Alice Cooper _and_ hits me with a car," Mikaela sniffed.

Sari suddenly let out a good-natured laugh. "Hey Miko, you want some ice for that _burn_."

Miko scooted onto her knees to fix Mikaela with a narrowed stare over the back of the driver's seat. "You, Miss Crazy Lady, are _so_ lucky you have an evil terrorist after you, because otherwise I'd tell you to take off the seat belt and we'd settle this outside."

"Bring it, Yakuza," Mikaela laughed, glad for the sort of violent levity that the Sumdac bodyguard brought.

"Alright, alright, time to calm down. No one is taking anyone outside to settle anything," Sari intoned, though still laughing.

"No girl fight? That sucks!" Psi whined. "I'm so bored! I need violence!" Wisps of his incorporeal form flared with his impetuous temper. A few wisps brushed against Miko's arm, causing her to shudder as if hit by a cold breeze. A moment later, Psi stopped his mild tantrum and turned his head on backwards to regard the looming airport.

"Oh," he said lightly, alien expression shifting. His amber gaze flared bright. "_Oh_! Finally, something interesting!"

Before Mikaela could ask what he found so interesting, the Fallen unbuckled himself and disappeared.

"Did anyone else see that buckle undo itself?" Miko demanded, recoiling from the slowly retracting harness. "Seriously, it just unbuckled itself."

"No one saw anything, Miko," Sari assured. "I'm sure you're imaging things again."

"Like the way I imagined my underwear dancing around the apartment last night?"

Mikaela pressed her lips together to force herself to remain silent. It had not been a pretty sight to watch the Fallen slip Miko's panties. He had been bored, and Mikaela had learned the hard way that a monster composed of pure chaos did not deal well with boredom. In his foulest moods, the Fallen was vindictive, cruel, and merciless in doling out countless forms of anarchy. But, for the most part, No One was merely an unpleasant annoyance. In his own special way, he seemed to be trying hard to be partially decent for Mikaela's sake, limiting his poltergeist activity to the likes of turning lights on and off, flushing the toilet, knocking on the walls... and dancing in a foreign chick's underwear.

Were it not for the occasional reminder that No One was pure evil, Mikaela almost wanted to say that he was harmless. Almost. It was hard to forget the Fallen's true nature when someone had _thrown_ themselves from the top of Sumdac Tower within the first two days of Mikaela arriving. Not to mention another three employees charted away in ambulances after severe psychotic breakdowns attributed to 'stress'. The Fallen never made it a secret that he delighted in torture and misfortune. Although he couldn't touch any human aside from Mikaela, a whisper or two and some well-placed hauntings were effective enough for him to have his way.

Sari's bright red brows arched. "Yes, like your underwear. It was just caught in a draft – it's no big deal."

"I didn't know drafts knew how to do the cha-cha," Miko grumbled.

"If it makes you feel better, I called the electrician and the plumber to check everything out in the apartment while we're gone," Sari assured. "There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all the stuff that's been happening. Right, Mikaela?"

"Yeah, sure," Mikaela agreed readily. A perfectly reasonable explanation for the bizarre peccadilloes of a psycho spectre who serves a planet-devouring master? Not likely.

"_Of course_ there's a reasonable explanation. Maybe it's not your apartment that's haunted," Miko said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial level. She pointed one black-varnished nail at Mikaela. "It could be Crazy Lady who's got the ghosts."

Now _that_ was as close to a reasonable explanation as anyone was going to get.

"Now you're being ridiculous," Sari admonished, flipping up her sleeve to check her watch. "And you know what? We don't have time for this. We'll talk about the impossibility of a haunting, personal or otherwise, later. We have to check in first."

"Fine, you're the boss-lady," Miko sighed, zipping up her winter coat and jumping out of the SUV to gather the two suitcases of luggage from the trunk.

Sari sighed, turning to Mikaela. "Okay, one last check on your costume. Wig?"

Mikaela touched the curly blond wig hiding her true hair. "Check."

"Contacts?"

A brief glance in the rear view mirror to check the blue contact lenses covering her irises. "Check."

"Makeup and clothes?"

Another brief glance in the mirror, checking the thick layer of pale makeup Sari had borrowed from Miko and applied to Mikaela's face. The end result made Mikaela look more white than her half-Mi'kmaq ass had ever looked in her life. An artistic spatter of convincing freckles had been added to her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose. Mikaela hardly recognized herself as a blond-haired, blue-eyed white chick. A pair of non-prescription glasses and a borrowed suit helped complete the image of a well-groomed personal assistant for the daughter of Issac Sumdac.

"Check and check," Mikaela rhymed off.

Sari took a deep breath, doing a quick appraisal and a mental rundown of everything she might have forgotten. Maybe they were going overboard with the whole secret disguise thing, but Sari did not want to take any chances. She didn't like the idea of having blood on her hands if the plan didn't work out.

"Passport," she finally said. "Do you have your passport?"

Mikaela dug into the compact purse she had been given. In it was a set of new credentials that filled out the basic informational needs of her fake identity. She had a fake passport, driver's licence, and Sumdac company ID card. Apparently being the daughter of a rich genius meant being able to create convincing fake identities on short notice. Mikaela could not help muse over the idea that Sari and Miko had used the service before.

"Right here," Mikaela sighed, waving her passport. "I've got everything I need. Let's go. I just want to go home."

The corner of Sari's lips quirked up sympathetically. "Alright, let's get you home. As soon as we're on the company jet, you can take the disguise off."

They zipped up their coats to ward off the December chill and slipped out of the SUV. A few drifts of snow fluttered down from the overcast sky. It was a dreary day out, grey and cold.

"Come on," Miko commanding, ushering her two charges toward the building. "Heads down, walk quickly, and don't make eye-contact with anyone. You didn't say how powerful or connected your terrorist guy is, and I'm not taking any chances."

They made it into the building without incident. Sari was thankfully reclusive enough that no one outright recognized her as the daughter to a billionaire. Her bright red hair was tamed down into a bun hidden beneath a scarf so as to draw the least amount of attention their way. The private terminal for the Sumdac company jet was on the far side of the airport. Mikaela allowed herself to be buffered along by Miko's quiet but experienced commands, taking comfort in the hand Sari offered to her to hold. Clearly the two of them had some experience in the whole 'sneaking around without getting caught' spiel.

Humans bustled around them with no time to cast a sidelong glance at the trio. If anyone thought it weird that an Asian, Indian, and a seemingly Caucasian chick were hustling through the airport like it was on fire, no one made any outward sign of it. They passed a security guard, though he only arched an eyebrow at them and shook his head at the recklessness of youth.

Mikaela could not help but feel a little sick over where No One could have gone off to. He was an extraterrestrial demon with an affinity for chaos, after all. There was a lot of damage he could do in an airport.

A familiar electronic shriek caused her to skid to a halt and cast her eyes up from under the fridge of her blond wig. There was no mistaking the nails-to-chalkboard shriek of a frustrated Cybertronian. What was interesting was that other people had stopped at the noise, which meant that they could hear it too. Whereas Mikaela was suddenly and overwhelmingly relieved to know she was finally in the company of something comforting and familiar, the rest of her fellow humans appeared highly disturbed by the continued shrieking.

"What the hell is that?" Miko exclaimed, herding her employer and Mikaela behind her.

"Cybertronian," Mikaela said breathlessly. "There are Cybertronians here! In the building!" She was on her toes to peer over the crowd, catching sight of an odd grouping of jagged metal towering above the humans milling around them. "Over there!"

"Where?" Sari asked, craning on her tiptoes. "I can't see over everyone!"

Miko stood on Sari's suitcase to get a better look. "Looks like they're in for the metal detectors." She pulled a disbelieving face. "Isn't that discriminatory somehow, making robots go through metal detectors?"

Another Cybertronian shriek rang off the walls.

"I think that might be what the problem is," Sari shrugged helplessly.

Mikaela bit her lip, torn between walking away and running toward the Cybertronians that she may or may not even know. What if they were not the bots from Nevada? She couldn't very well go running up to complete strangers! She saw the flap of metal wings and heard the grating sound of an irritated growl over the din of human activity. Old Decepticon insignias flashed under the florescent lights, lending to the identities of the very short and increasingly irritated aliens. Mikaela quickly made her decision. She darted around Miko's shoulder and ran through the crowd, dodging around wheeled suitcases and gawking bystanders.

Her ears lit up at the familiar tones of mechanical voices.

"Of course I set the metal detector off! What did you think was going to happen when I walked through it?"

"Sir...uh, madam... um, you're going to have to calm down," urged the uneasy attendant who was starting to sweat under his uniform.

"I ain't a 'sir' or a 'madam'! Do I look like a sir or madam to you!" Rumble puffed up indignantly, his seven-foot armoured frame taking up an intimidating amount of room. His menacing design made him a formidable-looking creature, while the bright blue tarp cloak he wore looked comical.

"This is what we get for doing the two-day layover thing," Frenzy hissed, gesturing angrily. "Save us a couple bucks, but pay it back in all the hassle we get trying to get on our own damn flight! We never had this trouble back in Canada. They let us go through without the metal detectors!"

The attendant floundered helplessly. "It's- it's airport policy to go through the detectors-."

Unbenounced to everyone in the airport, there was a dark cloud hanging over the attendant. A dark, twisting cloud of liquid-smoke and solid-gas, whose smouldering optics flashed like amber flame, and whose hysterical laughter over the situation went unheard. Nevertheless, The Fallen continued to whisper in the attendant's ear. _They have to go through the metal detectors. It's airport policy_, he said. _Don't let them go anywhere else. Keep making them go through! If you don't, you'll be fired!  
_

Behind the two blustering symbiotes, their fellow brethren shifted silently. Their disgruntlement over the obvious discrimination toward cybernetic life forms was palpable. They also didn't like the way dozens of humans were staring at them in slack-jawed amazement. Had they still held their Decepticon allegiances, they would have opened fire several minutes ago and laid waste to the metal detector and everyone who was stupid enough to be slack-jawed staring at them.

Ravage was the first to catch sight of Mikaela as she shouldered her way through the crowd. He sat back on his haunches and cocked his head to the right. Like most Cybertronians, he did not depend on his sense of sight as much as he did his other senses. His bio-signs scanner was currently telling him a human he had been informed was dead was currently approaching. He leaned toward Laserbeak, obviously transmitting something. The avian bot jerked back, made eye contact with Mikaela, and then bristled its metal armour.

Mikaela came skidding to a halt mere feet from the small gathering of Cybertronians. She couldn't bring herself to care that they were only Soundwave's symbiotes. She didn't have the mind to wonder what the hell they were doing in a Detroit airport. She was just happy and relieved to be among alien robots again.

"I-." Mikaela suddenly realized she had no words to say to them. She didn't even have words to say to No One, who had twisted himself into a self-important knot of incomprehensible self-satisfaction with whatever he had been doing.

Rumble caught sight of Mikaela and instantly stopped ranting on the poor airport employee. "Hey," he said, glaring down at Mikaela. "Ain't you supposed ta be dead?"

Mikaela blanched.

"Okay, that's enough out of you!" Miko suddenly exclaimed, leaping out of nowhere to latch her hand over Mikaela's mouth before she could say anything to give away her cover.

Sari rushed in, her smile wide and desperate as she interceded between Mikaela and the Neutral-Decepticons. Her hand was extended to Ravage, as if she meant to shake his...paw. Thanks to some quick thinking, she instantly started to blather the first stupid story that came to mind. Unfortunately, even quick thinking did nothing to hide the bout of terrified panic that Mikaela's run had inspired.

"Hi! Sari Sumdac of Sumdac Cybernetic Industries! I'm sure you've heard of us. It's so nice to meet you! I see that you've met my personal assistant, uh- Minnie! Sorry that she came out of nowhere – you know new types, they're just so overly eager to please. You're Cybertronian, right? Of course you are! Just look at those designs – completely out of this world, am I right? My company has been very eager to work with your species, as you can probably understand. Cybertronian technology is among the most advanced on the planet, after all. Meeting you here is like running into a celebrity of the cybernetics business-!"

Sari's hand started to tremble in midair while she waited for someone to shake it. Her panicked smile faltered and her nervous laughter started to trail off.

"Stick your right hand in. You stick your right hand out. You stick your right hand in and you shake it all about," The Fallen sang.

Mikaela struggled against Miko's grasp, wanting desperately to say something. Miko had other plans, tightening her grip until it was like a metal vice.

Ravage cast a curious look between the three human females before shifting back on his haunches to offer his massive front paw. The claws alone were longer than Sari's hand. His expression, though difficult for a human to interpret, showed that he was willing to play along with the game.

"It is nice to meet you, Sari Sumdac of Sumdac Cybernetic Industries. I am called Ravage."

"It's so nice to meet you, Ravage!" Sari exclaimed with renewed vigour. There were no words to express the girl's visible relief when she realized the Cybertronians were going to go along with the ruse. She attempted to shake the alien's paw, only end up vibrating her own arm until Ravage drew his appendage away.

"These are curious circumstances that we are meeting under," observed the feline symbiote, his smouldering stare glancing discreetly in Mikaela's direction. "I believe you have me and my brethren at a disadvantage."

"It, uh- appears that you were at a disadvantage before we got here," Sari observed cautiously.

"In no small part thanks to me," Psi crowed.

Ravage inclined his head. "Indeed. Metal detectors have a nasty habit of becoming excited around us."

"I assume you're heading for Nevada, to the EDC base there right?" Sari intoned, twisting the hems of her winter jacket. "It's all over the news that there's a mass migration of your kind going there."

"Yes, indeed."

"Isn't that such a coincidence? My companions and I are heading that way as well! Why do you and your- ah, brethren come aboard my company jet? I promise there will be no metal detectors. I imagine there is a lot for us to talk about during the flight."

"One or two things come to mind," Ravage rumbled, pausing to look at the rest of his cadre. They nodded their consent to going with the human; anything was better than wasting more time in line.

"I do believe we will come with you, Sari Sumdac," Ravage ceded. "Please, lead the way."

Stretching monstrous metal legs, the small group of Cybertronians stepped over the ropes that bordered the line up. Humans scrambled to get out of their way. Mikaela finally managed to wriggle her way out of Miko's grip in time to reach out and let her hand ghost over Ravage's shoulder. The metal was cool and dark and alive.

A cold, stale breeze swept in around Mikaela's shoulders.

"Did you see what I did there?" Fallen exclaimed gleefully, a rancid approximation of breath sweeping down Mikaela's cheek and neck, making her want to gag. "Did you see the way I whispered to that human? Oh! It was so much fun! Did you know he actually excreted on himself a little bit? Wet and dirty and so very pathetic!"

His laughter made Mikaela's skin prickle. She clenched her fists, doing her best to continue ignoring him.

Psi did not wish to be ignored.

"Aren't you happy with me, my pet?" he whined. "I could have done much worse. Much, _much_ worse! What if I had done as I had originally wanted, hmm? I could have come in here and possessed those Cybertronians. Imagine the fun I could have had! I would have made them dance and sing and lay waste to everything they touched! But no, I didn't do that, now did I? No, not at all!"

Mikaela pressed her lips together and said nothing.

Her invisible companion twisted himself into a new knot. He huffed and sputtered, causing lights overhead to flicker and the Cybertronians in their company shuddered and looked around for the odd energy signature that briefly appeared on their scanners.

"I didn't have to be nice, but I was," the spectre said. "Do you know how hard it is for me? Trapped with you, you narrow-minded, carbon-based, smelly, fragile, little speck of dirt? This is terribly hard for me! Say that you're happy with me, my pet. Say that you're happy or I shall really start wreaking havoc-!"

"Alright, alright!" Mikaela hissed. "I'm happy you found Ravage and the others, and I'm happy you didn't mess things up. Now will you shut up?"

"Say the magic words."

"Oh come on!"

"Say them, my pet. Let me hear the words roll of your tongue like a kiss for me."

Mikaela clenched her jaw and forced air out between her locked teeth. _"Thank you."_

Frenzy looked down at her with a quizzical stare. "Who are you talking to?"

"No One," Mikaela grunted stubbornly, refusing to look up from under the bangs of her blond wig.

"She talks to herself a lot," Miko intoned absently. "Don't worry about."

"We'll be able to talk more about it on the plane," Sari said, jogging to keep up with everyone. She was the shortest of the group, making it a challenge to keep up with the long strides of seven-foot-tall alien robots. "I'm sure you have a few questions as to why our- uh, mutual friend is not as dead as you might have been led to believe."

Ravage rumbled softly, his tail flicking back and forth. "Yes, it did cross my mind to enquire about that."

"You know, Sideswipe was right about this planet," Rumble huffed. "No one stays dead around here."

* * *

Nemesis looked upon his handiwork with a great sense of satisfaction.

Wrapped within the darkness of the bowels of the Earth, a new monster was taking shape. Like a snake, it was shedding the skins of its mortality to reveal the true beast underneath. A slow process, seeing as the layers of mortality that had settled over the eons clung like tar to the body as if reluctant to let go. This unveiling dark god was like and unlike Nemesis. They both called their true home in Dead Universe. The multiverse had not seen the like of this particular beast since fate had intervened, stealing him away to serve an existence worse than death: _mortal life_.

"I owe you a great debt, my brother," Nemesis said smoothly, letting his voice carry through the churning darkness.

_A Great Debt_, the darkness echoed back.

Nemesis shuttered his optics for a moment to bask in the fading sound.

"Had you not called to me upon our first meeting, I never would have awakened from within this shell I was cast into," the Dark Prime said. "Were it not for you, I would still serve Psi and the Unmaker. I would know nothing of my home the Dead Universe."

_Dead Universe,_ whispered the darkness with wavering recognition.

A brief, humourless left huffed out of the Dark Prime's vents. "You would know all too well that being forced into mortality has such... _unfortunate_ amnesiac qualities on us."

A pair of red optics flickered in the darkness.

"What a pity it would be if you had never called to me, after so much work has been put into bringing our home to this universe. Do you remember yet?" Nemesis wondered, verging on a near-conversational tone. "The eons unfathomable that we have invested in our plans for the Expansion? Can you still feel the hunger that we felt for new worlds to devour? Do you recall our endless searching for the doorway that would allow us to rip the fabric of this universe and spill in like an endless flood?"

A shift in the darkness seemed enough answer for Nemesis. He sat back in his throne of stone and gazed upon the kindred beast he had long thought lost to their cause.

"Do you recall when we found the doorway?" Nemesis asked curiously.

There came no answer.

"I recall its brightness, too much for us to even look upon," Nemesis admitted with a small shudder. "It was more power than I had ever felt in my existence. Someone in this universe had torn the fabric of reality and somehow crossed over into the Dead Universe. On the other side we felt unimaginable power lurking."

Red optics flickered again, perhaps in recognition. Ancient memories registering as if from a dream of a memory of another life.

"You got too close," Nemesis sighed. "Reaching out to it as if you hoped to wrap your claws around it. You were so eager to try and drag the power in. And then you were gone. The light was gone. Our chance to grab the Allspark was gone."

The silence of the cave was deafening.

"All this time," Nemesis intoned wondrously. "All this time, we thought you had been destroyed – only to come to find you here, still in this universe. Caged and restrained, but _alive_. Death seems preferable to this mortal coil, does it not?" He peered down at his hands. "I, for one, will be happy to shed this shell. You have been stolen away from yourself for far too long. Or…perhaps not."

The silence was still so deafening you could hear your own death approaching.

"Strange, isn't it? Our goal was to secure the Allspark, and here you befriended it. You are the reason he will be drawn here, and you will be the one to convince him to use his powers for us. You are the one who called to me when I was trapped in this body. You lit the spark that brought me back to life." The corners of Nemesis's mouthplates arched up. "Perhaps there was always a part of you that knew what you were."

Those burning optics blinked once, slowly.

Nemesis rose from his seat, coming to stand before the creature whom he called brother.

"My restoration is in thanks to you. This world owes its impending end to you. I repay my debt by setting you free."

"I will use my freedom wisely," Bumblebee replied calmly, darkly. The voice that issued from him did not sound like any noise he had ever made before.

The glint of his red optics revealed that it was no longer Bumblebee behind those crystal lenses.


	36. To Reunions II

You would never believe it, but I have been suffering from the most terrible case of the Fuck Its for several weeks now. Every time I tried to sit down to write, I couldn't bring myself to type even a single paragraph. It was like a terrible miasma was hanging over me, sucking out my will to write. Try as I might, no matter what story I turned to, I just couldn't seem to engage my muse. And then one day I sat down and started writing and suddenly I didn't want to stop. All of a sudden, I had a chapter written. Go figure all it would take was some pain, some suffering, and a dash of angst for flavour.

There's really only one scene to this chapter, as opposed to the multiple scenes I usually deal with. By the time I was done writing this one, I felt like there was nothing more I could say. Another scene would ruin the atmosphere of this chapter. I'll get to everyone else's pain and suffering later.

Major thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I can honestly say that all of your reviews delighted me beyond words. Your honesty, enthusiasm, and even your shock and horror, never cease to inspire me to write better and horrify you in new and horrible ways! Thank you so much to **Flameshield, Faecat, Gamemice, Starfire201, Luinrina, femme4jack, CNightJoy, SafaiaFureia, holimacaroni, JenEvan, Phoenix51, Astsadi, StarscreamII, TransformersLover95, Frenzy5150, renegadewriter8**, and **Lecidre**~! I love you all. *heart*

**May We Never Let Go  
To Reunions II**

The sound of her feet pacing up and down the hall echoed hollowly in her ears, keeping beat with the nervous pulse of her heart fluttering against her ribs. Rough hands scrubbed at her face until the skin was raw. Her eyes were sore and blurry. Everything in her body hurt.

Looming ominously to her side was a massive door marked with the most innocuous designation: A3.

There was nothing special about the door. It was like every other door in the med bay. The only thing extraordinary about it was what it was hiding on the other side.

Hound was on the other side of the door.

Any minute now, Chase was going to vomit up every last drop of bile she possessed. It was a losing battle that she still fought valiantly. Her humiliating battle against Mirage and his decrees had met her humiliation quota for the rest of her lifetime, so she really did not have room for more humiliation at the behest of her digestive system. The Master Spy had not even bothered to pretend to put up a fight. Like the real bastard he was, he let her tire out with her punching and swearing, and then the moment her back was turned, he sucker punched her. Not only was Chase sure the knuckles of her right hand were cracked, her jaw was sore and swollen from being punched in the face. The joints of her jaw were screaming raw, a testament to having her jaw dislocated and then wrenched back into place moments later. Fun times for everyone.

Chase remembered nothing after Mirage had grabbed her jaw and yanked it back into place. She could only assume the pain had made her black out. After that, though, she assumed she had been drugged to make her a more agreeable hostage. The Master Spy certainly was not above drugging a lowly organic meat sack to make her easier to transport. A good old fashioned chloroform doping was the likeliest culprit, judging by the coppery tang left hanging on her tongue.

At least. Chase _hoped_ she had been drugged with chloroform, because the alternative means of how and why she was tasting copper pennies was too horrific to consider.

After the traumatic ordeal of being in Mirage's presence for longer than five minutes, fighting with him, and subsequently being knocked unconscious, the next thing Chase knew, she was waking up in the hall of the med bay like a skanky hooker left on the side of the road at dawn. She didn't know how long she had been left on the floor, though clearly no one had been concerned for her if they had not bothered to move her. There was no doubt in her mind that the door she had been set in front of in front of hid the frame of the mech who had killed Mikaela. The message was clear: _Go See Hound... Or Else_. It was a bit abrupt, sure, but Chase had never known Mirage for his kindness toward humans.

And, to be honest, if the matter had simply be left at being assaulted, drugged, and left in a hallway to fend for herself, Chase could have dealt with that. Therapy would have helped. It probably would have given her an intense amount of joy to tattle on Mirage to the big bad Prime and get his sorry metal aft in a tonne of trouble just for the sweet taste of revenge. But Chase's humiliation did not end with a couple of felonies and one case of fleeing the scene. There was more to it, striking her on a visceral level of violation that made her skin crawl and ensured that she would require therapy for the rest of her life.

Mirage had seen it fit to strip her of her dirty clothes and replace them with the most simplistic human outfit he could find. It might have been done as a kindness for Hound - to pretty up his present and tie it with a bow - though it crossed the line on so many levels that Chase could not help but hate the universe a little more than she already did. The selected ensemble was a dress Hound had bought on one of his world touring adventures. Easy to get on, easy to get off. Beyond the eye-bleeding colours and eccentric patterns, the material was thin and allowed for the chill of the med bay to sink into the marrow of her bones. She was disturbingly naked under the dress, denied even the sanctity of a bra and panties, so parts of her body sagged unflatteringly while other wider body parts stretched the material uncomfortably.

Her kidnappers' only saving grace was the fact that she still smelled bad and her hair looked like shit, meaning neither Mirage nor Punch had seen fit to attempt bathing her nor combing her hair. Chase chose to take this as evidence that God did exist and he did not hate her completely.

One wrong step on her bandaged foot caused Chase to stumble, hissing one long, low curse that, unfortunately, did not help with pain management. Nor did it happen to help with taking her mind off the fact that there was only a foot worth of flimsy metal separating her from the mech who had murdered her niece.

What was she supposed to feel about something like that?

Without anyone around, Chase had been able to rot in the bile of her anger and rage, all that bitterness and hatred, confusion and incomprehension over how the universe could be so cruel. Her mind played out those last scenes of Mikaela's life with disturbing clarity. The vividness of her blood, the stark lines of her veins standing out beneath her paling skin. The way her eyes had glittered with tears as she peered up at Hound and smiled.

That's what killed Chase. Mikaela had _smiled_. She had comforted Hound in those last moments before she died. Who in their right mind told their killer that everything was going to be all right?

It wasn't all right. None of it was. All it left was a huge gaping hole in Chase's chest where her heart used to be, and a massive amount of confusion over whether or not she was supposed to hate Hound. If Mikaela could forgive him, did that mean Chase was just supposed to get over this and welcome him home with open arms?

No.

No, the world did not work that like. Chase wasn't ready for this. Not yet. Probably not ever. The mere thought of crossing through that doorway and looking into Hound's optics inspired such dread in her as to make her heart bleed.

The only option open to her was to run. Her feet obeyed her even before she fully accepted her own cowardice. Despite the pain in her foot with every treating step, she forced the distance between herself and the Hound to grow. The space between them turned hollow and empty. She rounded the nearest corner, only to nearly bowl over the man walking the opposite direction. Chase drew up short so close that her short hair blew back.

Sam blinked at her with weary alien eyes. At first, he didn't recognize her. It took a moment to see past the hair and the dress. Maybe it was the smell that finally clicked her identity into place. His soft frown deepened as he realized who she was. There was sadness in his glowing blue eyes.

"Mirage finally brought you, huh?"

Chase swallowed back the sudden lump that tightened in her throat. "Coming here wasn't exactly _my_ idea." She sucked in a quick breath, and then said, "You know that you're glowing, right?"

A humourless laugh fell from between his lips. "Yeah, I noticed. Don't worry about it. It's just a..." he paused, thinking carefully about what he might say. It gave Chase the opportunity to really look at the kid, noting the weariness that radiated from his gaunt figure, the greyness seeping in under the dying hue of his skin. He was tired and hollow looking. A moment later, he appeared to give up. Shoulders sagging, he continued, "It's just a stupid side-effect."

"That's what you get for being an alien's lab rat," Chase countered.

Sam offered another humourless laugh, his eyes turning sadder.

"So, uh..." Sam's gaze travelled over her ragged hair and incongruous dress, his brow arching higher with everything he saw.

In a self-conscious bid to cover herself, Chase wrapped her arms over her chest. "Eyes up here, boy."

Sam snapped his gaze to well above Chase's shoulders.

"It's, um... a nice dress."

"You're a bad liar."

An absent hand scratched at the back of Sam's neck. "Sorry. Did you... did you get dressed up for Hound?"

At the mentioning of his designation, Chase's heart gave a painful wrench. "No, I... Nevermind. You think I'd look like this on purpose?"

"I guess not," Sam reasoned with a shrug. "You don't even have shoes on."

"That happens when you're kidnapped and dragged somewhere against your will."

Blue light flashed from the boy's glowing irises. "Mirage kidnapped you?"

"He's not exactly the most upstanding, human-loving Autobot there ever was. He's not above kidnapping."

"No, I guess he's not." His expression shifted from weary to something else. Dawning realization, and then clouded by a troubled frown. "Since he kidnapped you... you didn't _want_ to come here?" There was no disguising the sudden hurt that layered his voice.

Again, Chase's insides wrenched painfully. "No, kid, I didn't want to come here."

"What about Hound?" There was a helpless quality about his voice that was too heartbreaking to listen to.

"It's too soon to see Hound," Chase admitted between gritted teeth. "I... I need more time."

To prevent any more painful words being exchanged, she attempted to brush past him. She only got so far as an arm's length before hot fingers touched her wrist like a white hot brand. She jerked away from the searing heat. Sam recoiled like a spring, bracing his hand to his chest to prevent further contact.

"Sorry," he croaked.

"Don't worry about it," Chase sighed, rubbing her new burn.

"I just wanted you to wait for a second," Sam said. "I didn't mean to burn you."

"I thought you'd be cold," Chase commented offhandedly, scrutinizing the boy. It was the blueness about him that gave off the illusion of the cold. You expected him to feel like ice, like Mr. Freeze from Batman. Instead, he was like touching a live wire.

"Well... I'm not," Sam said lamely.

Chase took a deep breath, looking her new company up and down. His clothes were bedraggled, the same with his hair. He looked like he hadn't bathed in a while, though he was lucky not to smell like it. Chase wished she had that kind of luck.

"You wanted to say something to me, kid?" she prompted.

"I..." Sam seemed to deflate as he looked at her, growing smaller by the second. The sadness in his eyes seemed to be sucking the rest of the energy out of his body. Chase was a reminder of what he had lost. She probably looked enough like Mikaela to make him miss her all over again.

Chase's spine stiffened at the thought.

"Okay," she breathed. "Maybe this was a mistake. Never mind, Sam. Whatever you're going to say, save it until next time." She took a determined step to the left and pushed past Sam for a second time, prepared to barrel her way out of the building and off base. She'd walk all the way home barefoot if she had to.

"Wait!" Sam cried in panic, this time wrapping his burning palm around her wrist to stay her - completely forgetting about what his touch might feel like to her.

"Sam!" Chase swore, reflexively jerking her arm but failing to be released.

He closed his eye, sucking in a shuddering breath. The temperature of his palm slowly cooled to a manageable searing burn. "You can't go yet."

"What do you want, Sam?" Chase sighed wearily, jigging her arm in hope of freedom. No such luck for her. "Just say it so I can leave."

"I saw him just minutes after I woke up," Sam rasped, his grip tightening.

"Who? You mean Hound?" Chase nailed the boy with a glare, only to realize that Sam really wasn't a_ boy_ anymore. He was a young man with eyes that looked so much older than they should be. He was big enough to stand on his own. He didn't need to hide behind his alien robots or his girlfriend anymore. Chase couldn't really glare and push him around anymore.

"Yeah."

Despite the twisting knots her guts were churning themselves into, Chase straightened her spine and braced herself against it. She wasn't about to break down in front of the boy... young man... Sam.

"So?"

"You think I wanted to go see him?" Sam continued hoarsely, the heat of his voice matching the burn of his palm on Chase's skin.

"About as much as I want to go see him," Chase countered, attempting to free herself. "Now let me go."

"No," he growled, anger beginning to simmer beneath the surface. "I'm not going to let you walk away this time. You are going to hear what I have to say."

"Kid, I don't want to get into this in the middle of a hospital," Chase warned with false bravado.

Sam's grip tightened with an unspoken threat, the temperature of his palm rising by several degrees. The hairs on the back of Chase's neck prickled. Fear spiked her blood. On the most primal level, she knew the boy... the _man_ that Sam had become could hurt her. He wouldn't do so with his fists. He wouldn't fight her hand to hand. It was whatever lived beneath his skin, whatever it was that made him glow and made him so damn important to the Cybertronians, that was dangerous. With a single thought, he could use it to hurt her.

"I woke up five days after Mikaela had died right before my eyes, and it was like waking up _seconds_ after she... left. To me, she's only been dead for a few hours," Sam admitted, heat and sadness mixing in his tone. "Do you think the first thing I wanted to do was go save the life of the one who had killed her? I try to be a good man, but that was asking too much."

With a sudden burst of panic inspired by the knowledge of what Sam wanted to talk about, Chase pinwheeled backwards. Her arm jerked out of its fleshy shackle, leaving red score marks from nails across her wrist. She stumbled stupid backwards, landing the wrong way on her injured foot. Pain shot up that leg, forgotten moments later when Sam swooped in to capture her again. He wasn't as tall as she was, but he was angry and strong enough to hold her against the wall. The length of his forearm pressed warningly across her chest.

"You don't get to run away anymore," he said darkly, mourning madness lighting the depths of his eyes. "Fuck, Chase – for once in your life, listen to what someone else has to say."

Startled by the outburst and sudden physicality, Chase sucked in a panicked breath. The air tasted ionized on her tongue, almost burnt.

As emotional as both parties were, tempers were quick to flare like an open flame over a tanker of gasoline.

"You've always run away," Sam spat angrily. "Things get hard, you leave. You don't like the way something is, you ignore it or tell it to go away. Something bad happens in your life, you drink it away! What's that gotten you so far, Chase? What do you have in your life to show for all of it?"

"You shut your mouth, kid!"

"Big tough Chase doesn't need no one or nothing. Isn't that right? You don't need the world," he sneered – though it wasn't as mean as it could have been. He was too sad to be entirely mean. There was something pitiful and desperate about his words. He was furious enough to bring himself to tears. Liquid glistened at the edges of his eyes. "How do you think the rest of us have been dealing, huh? While you lock yourself in your house and drink away every misery you've ever had, did you forget all the people in the world who still need you? Mikaela was family to more than just you! It's not just you who lost something!"

"I said _shut up!_"

Sam neither shut up nor released his hold on her. If anything, his grip tightened.

"I lost _two_ people I love to this fucked up game Nemesis is playing! You think it's bad enough to know Mikaela is gone? I woke up to find out Bumblebee was gone too! He handed himself over to Nemesis! He did it out of love for me and everyone else. He sacrificed himself to give us time to fight back! How do you think that makes me feel, huh? I'm the reason Mikaela is dead. I'm the reason Bumblebee is gone! And if we don't stop Nemesis soon, I'll be the reason a whole lot of other people are going to be massacred!"

His rage made the strength of his forearm against her chest weigh like a lead weight.

"It only took the loss of the two people I loved most in this fucked up world to teach me that I can't bottle things up any more! I can't do this alone, and neither can you! We're not strong enough for that! No one can just lose their family and be alright! No one can fight a war all by themselves!"

"I'm not fighting a war," Chase snarled, bucking against his hold. "I'm the only one sane enough around here to stay the fuck away from the war!"

"You might have turned your back on the Cybertronians' war, but you've been fighting a war with the world for as long as I've known you! It's time you give up, Chase. Start letting other people in."

Her body bristled, continuing to buck futilely against the fury-fuelled strength Sam pressed down on her.

"Do you want to know what I did just hours ago?" he asked breathlessly, panting by now from the effort of his words. "I stood over Hound's body while I could still see Mikaela dying. He was _dying,_ Chase. I felt it inside of me – all that energy flooding out of him like a massive haemorrhage... I had the choice to let him live or let him die." He cast a harsh breath out his mouth, sucked another one back in through his nose. "Do you have any idea what that's like? To stand over someone who you've known for years, who you know is loved by so many of your friends, and you have to fight to save him because he is also the one who killed someone you loved?"

The weight of his body was like a small mountain crushing Chase's front, burning through the thin material of her dress. The lights high above them in the vaulted ceiling flickered from ambient power. Tears fell from the corners of Sam's eyes as pent up emotion finally burst their damns, streaking down his cheeks in frightening streams of bright blue. Energon seeped down his chin, over his clothes, dripping to his shoes, burning everything it touched.

"For a moment, I almost let him die," Sam admitted in agony. "You have no clue how much it hurt to put my hands on him, to bring him back from the brink of death, knowing that I can't bring Mikaela back the same way."

Chase squeezed her eyes shut to force back the burning acid of her own tears.

"It only took a second to bring him back, but it felt like a million years while I touched him. I might have brought him back from the brink of death, but he's still dying inside. What Nemesis did to him was nothing compared to what Nemesis forced him to do. It broke him inside – it took away a light in his spark that has kept him going even during the darkest parts of the war."

Finally, the tears Chase fought against broke free from her restraints and spilled down her cheeks freely. They really did burn like an acid, as if all the alcohol she had drank in her entire life had been concentrated in her tear ducts and now spilled out over raw wounds.

"He _loved_ Mikaela, Chase. Do you understand that? He loved her as much as you loved her. As much as a father would," Sam choked out on a rasping sob. "It never mattered to Hound that we are different species. He never cared about the differences between organic and inorganic. All he saw in Mikaela was a brilliant, funny, strong woman who he treated like a daughter, and you..." He choked again, his whole body shuddering. "He loved you more than you deserved. All three of you were a goddamn _family,_ but you were too stupid and stubborn to ever let it be like that!"

That hit exactly where it hurt the most. Right in the bleeding place where Chase's heart was. A strangled noise fell past her lips. It took all the strength she had in her body to finally shove Sam away, letting him stumble backward and land flat on his ass on the floor. He stayed like that, sprawled across the scuffed metal. Chase's legs shook like brittle twigs in a cold winter breeze, threatening to collapse and let her body crash. She gripped the wall with all her strength to keep herself from kissing the floor.

Sam stared straight ahead at the ceiling, letting go of another mirthless laugh.

"Hound needs you right now, Chase, and you need him."

"I can't," Chase breathed.

"You mean you won't," Sam countered flatly, sounding like the fight had finally drained out of him. "Stop being so selfish. You don't need to forgive him right now, but he needs someone to anchor him to this world before he lets his spark fade out. Just to go him. Be with him."

"And pretend that everything is okay?" Chase spat, lips trembling.

"No, don't pretend anything. Sit there and don't say anything at all," Sam offered quietly. "Mourn, like everybody else has been doing." He sighed, bringing an arm up to sling over his eyes to shield him from the jarring glare of the lights above. "Deep down, you know what he did wasn't his fault. He's not the one who really killed Mikaela. Nemesis did that. Hound is as much the victim here as Mickey... and maybe he's the worse off of the two, because he has to live with that he's done."

Silence fell.

Chase ruminated on the words, letting them sink in. If she wanted to be perfectly honest with herself, she knew who the real monster in all of this was. But knowing who to blame did not take away the hurt in her heart. It did not stop anger from blooming as she recalled the plasma blast that incinerated Mikaela's body. All of that anger she felt, the bitterness and rage that had been churning inside her and eating up all the goodness... even that had not been enough to burn away the part of her that still loved him.

Despite everything, there was a part of her that still _loved_ Hound.

The change in her was enough for Sam to see. Acceptance and resignation weighing on the hunched slope of her shoulders. Sadness and humility swimming in her black eyes.

"You're going to go see him now?" the boy asked, pushing himself up from the floor.

"Yeah, kid," she coughed dryly. "You convinced me."

This time, when Sam laughed, it was almost humoured. For a fleeting moment, he looked like a boy again.

Chase was careful to lever her weight to her undamaged foot as she stood away from the wall, using one arm for continued support in case something decided to collapse and leave her stranded. Her free arm splayed across her chest, drawing up the collar of her ugly dress to hide the long welt Sam had left behind from the intense heat of his skin. He didn't need to see what he had done.

She only got as far as the first door to come up before realizing that Sam had yet to move from the floor. When she looked back at him, he was where she had left him. By now, he had brought one knee up to prop his elbow on. His shoulders were hunched inward, head bowed until his chin pressed into his collarbone. Although his back was to her, Chase knew pain when she saw it.

"You okay, kid?"

"Nothing I can't handle," Sam grunted hoarsely.

"Is that right?"

"Just those side-effects I was telling you about."

Chase rocked back on her heels. "You want me to go get someone?"

Sam raised a hand, fist clenched so tightly that his nails dug past the skin of his palm. A rivulet of vivid red ran down the swell of his flesh. Fast like lightning, he opened his palm to release... a ball of light? It moved too fast for Chase to get a good look. The brightness of the light left her retinas scarred with a brilliant streak of colour. A moment later, it was gone. Sam's hand dropped to the ground like a leaden weight.

"Someone will be here for me in a second," Sam murmured.

"Uh, yeah... right." Chase scratched the back of her neck where her newly cut hair kept itching at the skin. "You know... Sam..."

Sam's shoulders arched up. "Uh-huh?"

Chase felt even more awkward then before as she offered a lame, "Sorry for your losses."

"Same to you," he sighed.

Not knowing what else to do, Chase lurched around on her sore foot and managed to hobble her way back to Hound's door. A single human was too small for the sensors in the door to recognize her presence, so she was required to tap on the control panel set low on the wall next to the door frame. It was a long minute of staring at the panel before she bothered to put her hand on it. Cool air breezed over her body as the door ushered open with its typical pneumatic hiss.

The inside of the room was like every other room in the med bay built for a Cybertronian. It was plain and made of metal, a single large into set into one of the walls, and one large berth took up a large around of space. There was no missing the massive green giant that lay unmoving atop the berth.

Chase hesitated before cautiously taking a step into the room. She squinted up at Hound's form, struck by how... _unchanged_ he looked. Every detail was the same as she had last saw him hale and whole at home. In fact, maybe he looked better. There was not a scratch on his forest green paint, nor were their dents to mar his heavy armour. No dirt smeared his frame. No scars as a testament to his recent torture. There was no sign of Mikaela's death of him anywhere... and it was not until that moment of seeing him did Chase realize she had been expecting Hound to look _different _after what he had done.

Now that she thought about it, she wasn't even sure what she had expected him to look like. Dirty? Wrong? Was he supposed to look like someone else?

It hurt to climb the ladder that hung from the side of the berth, but she did it anyways. Gritting her teeth and blinking back a wash of tears, Chase made it to the top to sit on her haunches and pant fiercely. The bandage around her foot was grey from the dirt of the floor, while a spreading patch of red announced that the wound underneath had split open and was freely bleeding again. Out from underneath the saturated bandage was excess blood that _drip, dripped_ to the berth top.

Up close, the massive metal alien looked so painfully familiar. He looked like Hound. _Just Hound_. No more, and no less.

"Hound?" Chase called, searching for any sign of movement. "Hound, it's me..."

If he really were awake, he would have known it was her from miles away. His scanners would have picked up her bio-signs. Hound either would have been waiting for her or hiding from her.

A trembling hand reached out to trace the side of Hound's faceplate, finding the metal cool. Strangely inanimate under her touch. It wasn't the same lively hum of living metal that she was used to. Something was missing.

"You're asleep, aren't you?" Chase asked, breathing a sigh of relief. It was easier to face him while he was recharging. Her touch grew more confident, petting him gently in long, slow strokes from the side of his flat olfactory sensor to the place where his cheek met the rest of his helm. Soft whirls of lukewarm air cycled out of the vents in his neck, caressing along her bare legs while tossing the skirt of her dress. The deep, muted purr of his idling engine was like an old lullaby that soothed Chase until her heart only hurt when it beat.

"You probably did this on purpose, didn't you?" she wondered softly, watching the progress of her hand as it moved up and down along his faceplate. "You knew I was coming, so you put yourself in recharge just so you didn't have to talk to me."

Of course, there was no answer. Just the murmuring quiet of Hound's resting frame and Chase's soft breaths. It was a bit like the first time they met – Hound laying there unconscious while Chase kept up a one-sided conversation with herself.

The corner of Chase's mouth moved, though it could not quite be called a smile. "If I were you, I probably would have done the same thing." She sighed, closing her eyes and letting her tired body sag heavily. "Actually, I still don't want to be here, but... I don't have much of a choice."

Her arm dropped back to her side. She watched him for a long moment, taking him in, absorbing all the details.

"It hurts to look at you," she finally said. With each word, her heart ached. A new set of tears leaked down her face.

Hound's frame continued to whirr softly while he recharged uninterrupted.

"I was scared to come here," Chase admitted. "I know that what happened wasn't your fault... Mirage showed me what happened. I saw what Nemesis made you do, but I'm still... I'm still angry. I don't think I can forgive you just yet." She rubbed at her eyes roughly to dry them of their offending tears. "When you wake up, if you could just give me time... if you give _us_ time... maybe we can get through this together."

She felt like an idiot and a liar for speaking those words out loud.

"H-how much time... do you think you'll need?"

Startled by the hesitant question, Chase spun in the direction the voice had come from. At first, there was nothing but thin air. Chase's eyes were drawn to movement as a single small figure stepped out from behind the bulk of Hound's right arm. He was shaking from head to foot, his arms wrapped around his torso as if it were the only way to keep himself from falling apart. Everything about the newcomer was painfully familiar, from the shade of his skin to the lines of his body, but there was brokenness in the way he held himself that had never been there before. The vibrancy of life and hope had been syphoned away, leaving a dried out husk in its place.

"Were you there the whole time?" Chase breathed.

"Yes," Hound replied, choking on the word. His accent was gone. Maybe it was dead, like other parts of him.

"How...?"

Hound ducked his head, turning away from her. He was the same height and bulk his hologram has always been, but somehow he looked smaller. "Wheeljack came by in the middle of the night while I was just laying there. He knew... he knew that after the things that had been done to me, I wouldn't want to be in that frame anymore. There's too many reminders of..._ things_." His voice cracked. "I can't reformat right now, so he gave me another way out."

One hand unhinged its death grip from around his body, delving into the matrix of the hologram to fish around. When he withdrew his hand, a small device came with it. Hound turned back to Chase in order to offer his hand palm up and show off the prize he had caught. It was no bigger than a computer mouse, though thinner in design; its complexity exceeded the design of a mouse by a thousand times.

"It's... a portable emitter," Hound breathed, quickly returning it to the inside of his hologram when his image began to flicker.

Chase felt her mouth opening, though no sound came out. She could only stare in morbid fascination.

Hound continued on quietly, still unable to meet Chase's eyes. "Wheeljack said he was inspired by a Star Trek episode... He figured he could build one. Said it might come in handy some day."

"So you're a... portable hologram now?" Chase wondered cautiously.

"I guess I am. Wheeljack really put a lot of effort into the programming - funny how this is the most human I've ever felt as a hologram, but... I'm not enjoying it as much as I thought I would." He sighed, twisting his hands together. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop on you - while you were...talking to me. I was scared to... to see you again so soon. I figured you would hate me now... so I hid."

"I don't hate you," Chase whispered. "I don't know what I feel right now."

He nodded, flinching under her unblinking stare. "I heard you out in the hall."

"That was mostly Sam yelling," Chase reasoned, failing at scarce humour. "I didn't get much in edgewise, which is probably a good thing. The kid's had it rough."

"He didn't want to save me," Hound croaked. "He was going to let me die."

"Sam wouldn't have let that happen. He said those things in anger – it was the heat of the moment," Chase countered, crossing the space between them without thinking. She laid her hands to his shoulders, stunned to discovered the holographic flesh was more real than she had ever felt it before. It was hot, firm, and trembling with so much emotion that he might explode at any moment.

"Hey," Chase called, drawing Hound's chin up so that she could look him in the eyes. His gaze had turned as hollow as empty glass balls. "Hey, Sam is a good kid. He never would have let you die. He's just confused – like I am. It's all really hard to take in right now. Mikaela being gone is... a lot to adjust to."

A choked sob filled the air. "I didn't want to kill her."

"I know."

"I would have died to save her."

"Shhhhh, I know that too. You love her, Hound. No one can take that away."

"I'm really sorry, Chase. I'm really, _really_ sorry."

"Just give it time," Chase rasped hoarsely, cupping his cheeks gently in her palms. "We all need time."

Hound sputtered, choking on noise. Had he been human, he might have choked on saliva. His eyes reflected so much pain as he met her black gaze. The Hound she had known before had never possessed a gaze so impossibly sad. There was no light left inside.

"I wish... I wish Sam never saved me," he whispered. "I wish Nemesis had finished the job."

Chase's heart gave one last terrible churn in her chest before it felt like it burst.

"Don't wish that," she pleaded. "Too many people here love you. They would never wish to see you gone."

He shuddered, leaning into her touch. His eyes closed in one single moment of solace. "What about you?"

"Me?" Chase croaked.

"Do you want me here?" he whispered.

"Oh, Hound..." Chase swallowed hard against the painful lump in her throat, fighting against a tide of emotion that wanted to vomit out her mouth. The hands on his cheeks tightened, drawing his face down to her level, bringing it down until her lips could brush against his forehead with such a compassion she had not known herself capable of. This was probably one of the hardest things she had ever done in her life, but Sam was right - it was the right thing to do. No matter how her mind rebelled, it was her stupid heart that was winning out. Hound needed someone to desperately hold on to, and she was the best candidate for the job, ugly dress and all.

The words she spoke next were as honest as they were painful to say:

"I love you too much to want you to be anywhere else."

Hound's sobbing worsened until the words were warbled. His shoulders shook as the dams came down, letting loose with every volatile thing trapped inside of him. Real tears leaked from his holographic eyes. An inhuman wail fell from his lips that haunted the air as it lingered in echoes.

Chase found her arms moving around Hound's body, helpless to do anything other than hold him. He curled into her, his arms locking around her body as if to anchor him to the world. The weight of his hologram slowly dragged them downward until Chase was sitting on the berth and Hound was sprawled across her lap. She pet his head while he cried. The more he cried into her chest, the wetter Chase's eyes became in response.

They cried together until they had nothing left to give. Their tears fell until their spirits were rung dry and their bodies were too sore to move. Chase was left sprawled against Hound's large metal side, while Hound's hologram remained limp in her lap. It was still awkward between them while guilt hung between them like a ghost. Neither could ever fathom their relationship going back to the way it was. But for now, they took Sam's advice. They said nothing more to each other, content to mourn silently in each other's presence.

It was sometime later - maybe hours, possible days - that Chase finally managed to say something.

"I hope no one comes in here."

Hound levered his head up, his expression bleak. "Are you ashamed to be seen with me now?"

"No," Chase sighed, running the tips of her fingers through his shaggy raven hair. The corners of her mouth turned up in a gesture that maybe was a smile, but not quite there yet. A ghost of humour sparked in her obsidian eyes, a remnant of their old selves and maybe just a hint of what they could have again if given the time.

"It's just that your portable emitter didn't come with clothes."

"Oh," Hound breathed, peering down at himself absently. "I knew I was forgetting something."


	37. To Have the Last Laugh

Thank you so much to the brilliant and loyal reviewers of the last chapter who remind me why I keep writing. Oh yeah, sure, I write because I love it, but I write _here_ because _you_ love it. I'll always be here so long as you guys are. ^_^ Thank you a billion times over to **femme4jack, Ciel Celeste, Dazja, Faecat, Flameshield, Gamemice, CNightJoy, TransformersLover95, StarscreamII, Phoenix51**, and **Bluebird Soaring**. Never think for a moment that the effort, thoughtfulness, insight, or love that you invest in your reviews is wasted. I appreciate your time, interest, and encouragement more than words can say. The words 'thank you' seem small compared to the magnitude of my gratitude, but maybe if you happened to imagine a thank you sign strapped to Godzilla while he's riding a unicorn over a rainbow bridge, it might come close.

_Mr. Jacquel_ – Just a nod toward one of my favourite novels, _American Gods _by Neil Gaiman_._ It was stunning the first time I read it, and continues to be an inspiration with every turn of the page.

**May We Never Let Go  
To Have the Last Laugh  
**

"Let me get this straight," Kup gritted out between tense mouthplates. "You were upset that we decided to leave you behind because you were the one who nearly made the fatal mistake of starting a firefight with a bunch of bot who came in peace, so you snuck aboard the _Birds of Paradise_ and have been weaselling around inside the maintenance shafts and air vents ever since? _Did I cover everything?_"

Hot Rod flinched, his gaze directed no higher than his mentor's shins. "Yeah, that about sums everything up."

Since words failed to describe the sheer abject stupidity of his actions, Kup was resigned to making frustrated gestures with his hands while exhaling harsh noises that might have been curses if he had been calm enough to form proper words.

And because this was not a private party in the least, the rest of the high ranking individuals of Autobot party who had boarded the _Birds of Paradise_ were present as witnesses. Ultra Magnus had failed to utter a single word since coming upon the unfortunate scene. He sat as a silent mountain among them, fingers steepled together while he hosted a pensive frown. Jetfire was too busy desperately trying to assure the peacefulness of the Autobots with the delegation of Seekers who remained in the observation deck, but Springer and two other Wreckers were standing guard to make sure nothing got out of hand. Their alternating expressions, between incredulous annoyance over Hot Rod's idiocy to smug entertainment while Kup outdid himself with the lack of eloquence in his anger, did nothing to help the situation.

"What could you have possibly been thinking to make that an even relatively good idea?" Kup suddenly exclaimed when the ability to form proper sentences returned.

"I was thinking that I could be of use to this mission," Hot Rod returned heatedly, still addressing the floor.

"Use? How? By sneaking around behind our backs? By threatening the peace treaty we have with the Neo-Decepticons?" Kup threw out his arms in a wide gesture. "Hot Rod, I thought you were smarter than this!"

To this, there was no defence. A bright orange head hung down in shame, optics shuttered tight as if that were enough to block out what was happening. The evidence was piling up that Hot Rod was, in fact, not smarter than this. He was incredibly stupid. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many lessons he downloaded or how often he trained and ran battle simulations, there was always something inside him that made him a screw up. His programming was too immature. His spark was too impetuous. Name the poison, he probably had it. He was never going to be anything more than the bot who manages to ruin things for everyone else.

"I'm sorry..." he croaked hoarsely.

"Sorry isn't good enough this time," Kup barked. "What you did went too far. Do you know how bad this makes us look?"

"Yeah, I do..."

"But you did it anyways!"

"I wasn't thinking, okay-"

_"Obviously_!" Kup exclaimed. "And what if those Seekers had seen it fit to kill you rather than truss you up like they did?"

Hot Rod bristled mulishly. "I can take care of myself."

"Hot Rod, it was four against one! You wouldn't have stood a chance!" Kup ranted desperately, pacing an agitated circuit in front of the chair. "Did it even cross your mind how much it would hurt the rest of us if you had gotten yourself killed? I would have been beside myself had you been hurt!"

Hot Rod's gaze shot up helplessly.

"No," Kup cut him off with a sharp gesture of his hand. "I don't want to hear it from you. What's done is done."

Hot Rod hung his head again.

"Cut the youngling a break, Kup," Springer intoned. "He was just trying to-"

"He was trying to be a big hero, when all he managed to do is make himself out be a thoughtless half-bit youngling," Kup said crossly without leaving any room to argue.

Springer pressed his mouthplates into a thin line.

"He is not a youngling anymore," the old veteran growled. "We've given him too much leeway, and look where that has gotten us. His apprenticeship hasn't smartened him up. War hasn't smartened him up. I am beginning to think nothing will!"

Those words, coming from the one bot in the universe who was like family to Hot Rod, hurt as much as any physical injury. He fought to keep his expression from reflecting his new personal injuries.

"Kup, you are allowing your emotions to get the best of you," Ultra Magnus intoned with a quick glance toward Hot Rod. Though his tone had been low, it caught the attention of most bots in the room. "I think that Hot Rod has heard enough. Isn't that right, Hot Rod?"

The bot in question could only nod weakly.

Ultra Magnus nodded back needlessly before returning his attention to his most trusted confidant. "Kup, go take a walk. Calm down. The things you are saying, though maybe not without merit, are said in anger."

Grey-green armour bristling, it appeared as if the old veteran would refuse the gentle order. All optics were on him as he opened his mouthplates to spew out some bluster, but then reconsidered before the first words could fall out. He deflated and quickly composed himself.

"You're right. I'm worked up." Whenever Hot Rod was involved, he had a tendency to lose his head. If the young bot considered him family, it was not a one-sided affection. Kup was an Old One who had lived long and lost much – he had taken Hot Rod under his wing during the first flush of war, and now the impetuous young creature was the closest thing he had to family. It was not his fault if he lost his mind a little over the thought of Hot Rod putting himself in danger.

"Take a walk," Ultra Magnus insisted.

With a jerk of his head, the old bot made for the exit. Along the way, he cuffed Topspin on the shoulder and grumbled for the Wrecker to accompany him. Topspin was smart enough not to argue.

An unusual quiet settled into the observation deck in the absence of Kup's ranting. The only sound now was that of the distant engines working to capacity to get them all to Earth. Due to the new hole in the ceiling leading straight into the ventilation shafts, the sounds of the engines were especially loud.

"That was an incredibly stupid thing you did, Hot Rod," Ultra Magnus admonished quietly, the words so laden with disappointment that they hurt even more than Kup's anger.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I don't think sorry is going to cut it this time," said the commander. "This is very serious business that you've fallen into. I'm not in control of what happens here. This is Starscream's ship and you are going to have to hope that he is lenient with you."

Actual fear reflected in the rash bot's optics.

From behind Hot Rod, the Seekers approached on quiet feet. It was not until they were looming above his shoulders that the bound Autobot knew they were there. The sound of Starscream's high, rasping voice caused him to jump as the Seeker addressed Ultra Magnus.

"If this were still a regular Decepticon ship, he either would have been shot and put in the brig or shot and put in the med bay – which would have been the worse of the two options."

"Understandable," Ultra Magnus replied wryly, thinking of the Constructicons and their... _unique_ bedside manner.

A shudder ran down Hot Rod's spinal column.

"However," Starscream pressed, casting pointed looks at his two trine mates, "this is _not_ a regular Decepticon ship anymore. We do not follow Decepticon rules. There are new rules that explicitly state killing bots is bad."

"Unwritten rule," Skywarp grumbled mulishly.

Thundercracker discreetly stomped on his foot.

Starscream did an excellent job of pretending not to notice the antics of his own trine mates. He was exceedingly lucky to have convinced Acid Storm to leave the room, having Sunstorm accompany him to insure the other stayed away, or the objection to the lack of pain and punishment would have been much louder and acerbic. As it was, Thundercracker was a reasonable Seeker and Skywarp was... Skywarp.

"This is your ship, Starscream," Ultra Magnus sighed. "It is up to you how to handle this situation, though it is my hope that you go easy on him. At least consider that he meant no harm in sneaking aboard your ship. Hot Rod is an impetuous mech, still very young at spark."

"Jetfire has explained as much," Starscream replied with an inclination of his head. "Maybe if this were another time and another place, I would have had the pleasure of executing an Autobot spy to display my power."

Hot Rod tensed, as did Springer. Dark hands travelled quickly to the hilt of his sword, prepared to start swinging even if his target wasn't likely to stay down.

"And now?" Ultra Magnus enquired.

"Now I am inclined to rely on the recommendations my old friend has given me," the Seeker said, acknowledging Jetfire with a nod. He turned his red optics on Hot Rod, crouching down in front of the the bound Autobot to look him in the optics. "You must have made quite the impression upon Jetfire to have him defend you as fiercely as he did. He has enough faith in you to know, without even consulting the reasons for your actions, that you had meant no harm to me or mine."

The long finger under his chin forced Hot Rod to look up into the optics of the Decepticon he had spent a lifetime wanting dead.

Starscream could see those ghosts of hate and menace clouded with confusion.

"It's strange, isn't it? I used to be the second in command for all of the Decepticon army, and here you see me being something you never considered I was capable of – being a reasonable, dignified leader. I am still surprised by it, actually." He chuckled ruefully over his own observations. "I've seen hundreds of Autobots like you during my long career at Megatron's side. You are all full of the same blind righteousness and eager foolhardiness, but there is rarely ever any malice in your thoughts or actions."

"I just didn't want to be left behind," Hot Rod mumbled.

"I know," Starscream admitted. "Jetfire convinced me of that much. You are just another silly Autobot throwing yourself headfirst into something without thinking it through." His hand dropped away, lacing his fingers together while he braced his elbows on his knees. "You understand my predicament, don't you? I can't show weakness to the bots I command. Until we reach Earth, you are going to be confined to the brig so you don't cause anymore trouble."

"Just that?" Hot Rod wondered suspiciously. "The brig is barely any punishment at all. Are you sure you're not going to shoot me first? Or hand me over for a little light interrogation just to make sure I'm not a spy?"

"The brig isn't the punishment at all. It's just a holding place for now," Starscream replied, glancing over Hot Rod shoulder to the one mech in the room whom everyone had forgotten. Dead End stood quietly in the shadows at the far end, watching the proceedings with sullen resignation. Starscream returned his gaze to Hot Rod with a pang of dread. "The punishment is still allowing you to come to Earth instead of forcing you to go back to Beta Zen."

* * *

The company jet for Sumdac Cybernetic Industries was the sort of jet one might expect to be owned by a leading multi-_billion _dollar tech company. It was clean, sleek, and among one of the best leading models on high-efficiency low-exhaust engines. Its interiors were impressive with floors lush with thick carpeting, and large seats upholstered in soft cream-coloured Italian leather. Windows lined the space and allowed copious amounts of natural light to flow in - though the overcast sky outside deadened the effect. There was a large screen television set into one of the walls, and an impressive collection of games and DVDs locked up behind glass-walled cabinet so that they did not scatter if the plane hit turbulence. A mini-bar sat tucked into the corner at the other end.

The frequency with which Sari and Miko flew with the jet showed in their comfortable entrance of the large airliner, kicking off their shoes and wandering straight to their usual seats. Along the way, they shed their winter clothes, tossing winter jackets and sweaters across the seats, stripping off their mittens and scarves. Sari stretched out comfortably in her deep leather seat, tossing open the window shade next to her and peering out at the activity of the tarmac. Miko put her seat back and braced her socked feet on the seat in front of her.

"So this is how the rich and powerful live," Mikaela commented as she followed along behind her two rescuers. She was far more conscientious about where she set her borrowed winter clothing, picking her way through the classy jet as conscientiously as she might tour a china shop.

"Scared of flying?" Miko drawled teasingly as she spotted Mikaela's hesitation.

"It's not that. Everything's so expensive in here, I don't know it I can touch it without ruining it," Mikaela shot back with a pointed look. Every occasion in the past when she had to fly, it had always been with the cheapest tickets possible. Either she couldn't afford better, or if it was the EDC paying for her to attend a special event with Sam, it was the guilt of unnecessary expenses that kept her firmly flying in business or economy class.

"Never flown platinum class before?" Miko wondered with a wide grin.

"Closest thing I can think of is catching a flight in a Cybertronian who turned into something that could fly," Mikaela laughed awkwardly. "So I've flown alien class, but never first class."

"Alien class sounds like a lot more fun," Sari laughed.

"It all depends on who you get stuck flying with," Mikaela reasoned. "Some Cybertronians are decent fliers, and some of them... are not."

The two young women chuckled at the idea.

Behind Mikaela, the Decepticon-Neutrals were the last to board and perhaps the most wary to do so. They had to pick up their feet and walk carefully across the carpet or else risk getting the plush caught in the joints of their feet. Buzzsaw and Laserbeak, the two symbiotes who possessed the sharpest taloned feet, nervously waddled their way around the edges of the aisle to cause the least amount of damage. They were not well designed for walking, but the width of the air-plane condemned them to the plebeian act.

Frenzy gave Rumble a light nudge, arching an optic ridge as some sort of signal. As one, they both rummaged through their subspace pockets until they found what they were looking for. Each revealed a set of large, oddly shaped knitted things made of thick double-knitted yarn in corresponding colours to their armour. A moment later, they slipped the strange bag-like things onto their alien feet and revealed their treasures for what they were: human-knitted booties for a pair of seven-foot-tall alien robots. They released collective sighs now that they no longer had to worry about the plush of the carpet getting caught up in their feet.

"Nice slippers," Miko snickered.

"They're our bowling shoes," Frenzy replied a tad defensively.

A dark eyebrow accented by stainless steel rings winged up incredulously. "Seriously?"

Frenzy pursed his mouthplates. "We bowl with the humans of the town we live near. The old ladies knitted us these so our armour didn't scratch the floor anymore."

"Never thought I'd be grateful for these ugly things," Rumble grumbled. He had never been a fan of the knitted booties, but it had been his only option if he wanted to bowl. He was not equipped with holomatter projectors, so while all the larger bots got to play in human guises, all the little bots were forced to wear booties or else be stuck on the sidelines with no games to play.

"You...bowl?" Sari wondered in the same cautious tone one might enquire about a friend's questionable life choices. She did nothing to hide her openly stunned expression.

"Well, yeah, what else do you think we do? Sit around doing complex mathematical equations in our heads for fun?" Frenzy snorted. "There's not a lot going on in Carnéval, and Moose Wash isn't exactly a hub of activity either. Bowling is just about the only thing we _can_ do."

"We even have a team," Rumble insisted stubbornly. "We're called the Monster Machines."

"The Monster Machines?" Sari parroted disbelievingly. "Miko, stop that."

Miko pressed her lips together, but snorting laughter still kept slipping out.

"It's a good name," Rumbled huffed.

"Yeah – I mean, of course! I didn't mean to insult you," Sari stuttered, laughing nervously as she twirled a lock of her hair. "I only meant that I never expected highly advanced alien robots to – um, well, do something so..."

"Dull," Miko sang with a slight sneer.

"Not dull," Sari rushed to counter, wishing to keep her first sincere encounter with Cybertronians as peaceful as possible. "It's merely, um... really _unexpected_ to hear that you go bowling. With other humans. While wearing knitted booties."

The summation was too much for Sari's bodyguard, who simply clapped her hands over her mouth and laughed into her palms.

"You gotta do what you gotta do," Frenzy shrugged unfazedly, taking a seat in the nearest available chair.

Ravage revved deeply, flicking his long serrated tail back and forth. His smouldering gaze met Mikaela's for a long moment, taking the human's measure. Mikaela's fist tightened in the back of one of the leather seats, not sure how she should proceed. The symbiote took the decision into his own capable claws.

"Miss Sumdac," he called politely with a light inclination of his head. "Is it possible that I may have a moment alone with Mikaela? There are a few things that we need to discuss."

The young heiress perked up from her seat, gesturing toward the rear of the plane. "There's a room back there that you can use. It's nothing too fancy, I don't think. Just a bedroom that we sometimes use when the flights are long and we want to take a nap."

"I am sure it will be adequate," Ravage assured.

Mikaela glanced around nervously before following. She had yet to see No One. He had been content to haunt around her head until they had come close to the boarding portal, and then cackled and shot off again. His absence did more to make her nervous than his constant presence around her did. There was no telling what other kinds of chaos he could be inciting.

"Miss, may I take your jacket?" wondered a polite voice seemingly appearing out of nowhere from behind her.

Spinning with a gasp, Mikaela was faced with a tall, handsome man in a smartly pressed uniform bearing the insignia of Sumdac Cybernetic Industries. His swarthy skin was smooth and young looking, though his features were the sort that appeared ageless under any regard, framed by hair as dark as a raven's wing and as straight as the edge of a ruler. His expression was impassive, save for the interest reflecting in his dark eyes as he surveyed Mikaela and then looked past her to the unusual alien guests dotting the airliner.

A moment of befuddled silence filled the air as Sari and Miko blinked up at the newcomer, followed by joyous recognition.

"Mr. Jacquel!" Sari beamed. "I was wondering where you went off to!"

"I was checking with the pilot to make sure everything was ready for takeoff, Miss Sumdac," assured the steward, whose accent was as exotic as his looks. "I am sorry I was not here right away to greet you while you came aboard."

"Was there a problem I should know about?" Sari wondered worriedly, half-rising from her seat.

"Nothing you should be concerned with, Miss Sumdac," Mr. Jacquel replied coolly with an elegant dismissive gesture of his hand. "Everything is taken care of now."

Expressive brown eyes reflected their reserve over the placation. Nonetheless, she resumed her seat and twirled a loose lock of red hair in her familiar nervous gesture. "If you are sure..."

"I am very sure."

She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

"And your guests, Miss Sumdac?" intoned Mr. Jacquel with admirable aloofness, for the first time acknowledging that there were others aboard. "If you had called ahead and mentioned that you would be bringing friends, I would have... put down an oil tarp, or something to that effect."

"That's racist, I think," Rumble grumbled quietly.

If the steward happened to hear, he showed no signs of it.

"This was a last minute arrangement," Sari explained. "I hope this doesn't change anything."

"Not at all, so long as they do not leave tread marks on anything or pierce the leather with their pointy parts," Mr. Jacquel assured coolly, plucking Mikaela's jacket away from the fist that was wringing it thoughtlessly. He gave an artful flick to dispel the wrinkles. "If I heard right, you and the... four-legged one will be using the bedroom, yes? Follow me."

Along the way, Mr. Jacquel picked up jackets, scarves, tarps, and hats shed by the humans and transformers. With the utmost professionalism, he hung each of the articles away and then breezed through the open portals of the moderately-sized company jet to the tail end where an unassuming door greeted them. He turned the knob and swung inward, revealing a room decorated with similar wealthy tastes as the rest of the airplane.

"The sheets are freshly cleaned and pressed, the mini-fridge is fully stocked, and the television offered satellite channels," the steward rattled off. "The remote is next to the bed. It controls most of the room, including the lights and controls for the bed. If you require anything else, there is an intercom button on the nightstand which will direct you to either the pilot or myself."

Ravage was not interested in any of the amenities of the room nor in the recommendations of the steward. He stood in fascinating contrast to the bedroom, his jagged black armour appearing even more coarse than it usually did next to the soft cream decor. Though he nodded politely, there was an air about him that was distinctly resentful of the extra presence. A low, annoyed growl was the closest he came to verbalizing his desire to have Mr. Jacquel leave as soon as possible.

"I believe that is all," said the steward, turning to leave under Ravage's watchful scrutiny. His hand brushed Mikaela's by accident, but the sensation that ran up her nerves was not of flesh. For a split second, it felt very much like the velvet touch of fur. Jerking away, her eyes shot to the steward's face and noticed that his eyes were more intensely doglike than she recalled. As he inclined his head again, a length of thin chain shifted around his long neck to reveal an ankh hiding in the folds of his pressed shirt and blazer.

It then occurred to Mikaela why the steward seemed to oddly familiar. She had seen him once before, but he had been a jackal that time.

"You needn't worry on this flight," he assured in a murmured tone. "The pilot and I shall entertain No One for the time being."

A thrill coursed through Mikaela's blood, excitement skittering over her nerves. Before she could figure out what to say in reply to such an enigmatic statement, the steward passed on without another word. There came another jolt through the young woman as he intentionally passed before a mirror that reflected something else that was not at all human.

"Mikaela," Ravage called lightly, summoning her attention when he deemed she had been distracted by the handsome steward for long enough.

"Sorry," she breathed, approaching the bed where Ravage had taken up a regal pose in the middle of the mattress. He was completely serious as he plucked a pillow up from the head of the bed and placed it beneath his forelegs for comfort, his tail wrapping around the outside of his frame. Mikaela found room on the corner of the bed and curled up there, bringing her knees up to her chest and hugging her shins tightly. She did not care that her cool grey skirt rode up on her thighs, revealing a little too much of her sheer stockings.

"Is that an English colloquialism I am not familiar with?" the feline symbiote wondered.

"What is?"

"The steward's comment about entertaining no one. I do not understand the meaning behind it."

"Oh." Mikaela breathed softly across the tops of her knees, letting the humid warmth seep past the silken stockings and into her prickled skin. "Don't worry about it. He's not from around here – it was probably just something people say where he comes from."

Ravage accepted this with a brief nod. He was not all that concerned with the idioms of humanity.

Mikaela kept her eyes directed elsewhere, her body rocking back and forth without her notice. All around, there came the sounds of movement and humming as the plane geared up to take off. It would not be long now before they were in the air. Briefly, Mikaela wondered if it was the usual policy to have people out of their seats and unbuckled during takeoff... but then she brushed aside the concern. If anyone were really concerned about it, they would have said something about buckling up.

"You look different," Ravage observed, snapping her from her thoughts.

"It's a disguise," Mikaela mumbled lamely, tugging off the blond wig. Her own hair was pinned up and slicked down close to her scalp. The contact lenses were starting to irritate her eyes. The makeup was thick enough to begin suffocating her.

"It is convincing," Ravage complimented awkwardly in a manner that said he had no idea what else to say about it.

"You saw through it."

"I am familiar with your bio-signs," Ravage reminded. "On a purely aesthetic level, you look remarkably different. To a human, you would look remarkably different. Were it not for our sensors, you would be completely unrecognizable."

"That's comforting, I suppose," Mikaela chuckled softly. "The whole reason I've stayed inside for the past week and only came out with a disguise on is to make sure Nemesis doesn't figure out that I'm still alive. He's not... normal. Not like a normal Cybertronian. But, if he was monitoring the internet to something, he might have seen me somehow..."

"It was smart and resourceful of you to hide yourself," Ravage said with a sage nod. "However, your presence here begs the question of why you are not dead. Care to elaborate?"

"Where do I start?" Mikaela sighed, shaking her head. "Can the others hear you so you don't have to repeat the story?"

"We have all established a connection through our intercranial communications hubs; they can hear what I hear as of now. Unfortunately, I can also hear what they hear. Frenzy and Rumber are playing Dance Dance Revolution," the feline symbiote informed with a grimace.

The mental image of two seven-foot-tall robots playing Dance Dance Revolution in knitted booties was too much for Mikaela not to smile weakly over it.

"Now, as you were saying?" Ravage urged with a gentle nudge of his massive clawed paw.

Perhaps it was the gentleness of his tone that contrasted so brilliantly with the monstrous ferocity of his appearance, or it could have possibly been the relief of being in the company of a creature who could understand the full depth and breadth of the situation she was facing, but Mikaela suddenly found herself faced with a sudden torrential downpour of words falling from her lips. She confessed in earnest every detail of her miseries from the moment she and Hound had been taken to the moment she stumbled upon Ravage and his cohorts.

The hardest part was speaking about The Fallen. Where to begin with that sort of madness? His sudden decision to be Mikaela's saviour rather than stand by and let her be destroyed. It was hard to put into words the violation that churned inside her with the knowledge of the bargain that had been struck, that Mikaela had been turned over into the Fallen's hands and there was nothing she could do about it. As she brought up all the low-level hauntings mix with malevolent demonic activity, the Fallen's mercurial moods that swung erratically from one extreme to the next, his constant tauntings and teasings that were both playful and cruel, it occurred to Mikaela that she had somehow built up a wall to block the horribleness out. She had made herself numb to the Fallen.

Now the wall came down, and with it came much needed emotional release. She cried out with a week's worth of torment. Her makeup smeared along her cheeks, revealing swaths of her tanned skin beneath the pale beige concealer. Bobby pins popped from her hair and set free tightly bound locks. To make things worse, she felt so stupid to be confessing and crying in front of a transformer she hardly knew.

It did not take long for her to devolve into full blown waterworks.

Ravage watched the curious path of tears as they appeared at the corners of her eyes and then welled over into fat trails down her cheeks. Her sadness was a palpable energy in the air, as was her exhaustion. To think that this little creature had been through so much in the span of a single Cybertronian orn. She was stronger than most would give her species credit for. Most bots Ravage knew, including himself, would not have been able to stand the Fallen's company for as long as Mikaela had managed. Her strength and fortitude were admirable qualities.

Feeling a surge of sympathy for the poor female, Ravage levered up to sit on the mattress and bring Mikaela into an awkward embrace. It was rather similar to the occasional gentle hugs he granted to tiny human younglings who cried and begged for affection. His tail came around and patted her head soothingly with the flat side of his serrated blades, drawing down her back in a calming manner. Mikaela tensed at his touch, only to soften again when she sensed no harm from him. Her arms came around his chest, her cheek pillowed into his armour, and she cried until there were no more tears. Ravage continued to hold her for far longer than he cared to, waiting for some kind of sign that it was okay to let go.

In the end, Mikaela was moved under the sheets of the bed as her reddened eyes grew heavy with exhaustion catching up to her.

Ravage stood by the edge of the mattress to make sure all was well, offering a sigh as he turned to quit the room. He paused when a soft voice called his designation.

"Can you do something for me?" Mikaela murmured into the pillow, not even raising her head to glance at her company.

"What would it be?"

"It's nothing big..." She hugged her pillow close. "You're connected to Soundwave, right? You can find out what's happening with everyone through him."

"Yes, I can."

"Can you do that right now?" she wondered, as if afraid to hope. "Don't tell him I'm alive or anything – just in case the others get mad at him for knowing and not telling. I just want to know what's going on."

It was quiet in the following minutes as Ravage made good on the simple request. His optics flashed as he received an answer. He shifted his weight as he considered his new information, posing a simple question. "Nevada is a three hour time difference from Michigan, is it not?"

"Yeah, something like that," Mikaela replied suspiciously, not sure what time differences had to do with anything.

Ravage nodded. "Well, considering that, we should arrive just in time for your funeral this evening."

* * *

The door to the cockpit whipped open and shut with a smart snap.

"That did not take long," Horus observed nonchalantly as he continued to go through the prescribed pre-flight check he knew to go through, directed by the memories of the pilot he was possessing at the moment.

Mr. Jacquel gave a doglike shake, dispelling his human guise. In the place of the handsome human was the more familiar black-furred jackal beast decked in ancient golden armour in the Egyptian style.

"I tried to be quick, but the girl brought some unexpected guests with her."

"Cybertronians."

"Yes, five of them," Anubis sneered, casting a dirty look toward the back of the co-pilot seat where another Cybertronian problem sat languishing like a festering disease.

"I thought I had sensed foreign bodies," Horus commented distantly. "Did you have any trouble with them?"

"Not at all. For a moment, I did not think the two other humans were going to take to my disguise, though that the most of my troubles." When the need arose, many _Others_ were capable of walking into a human's life and making it appear as if they had always been there, and walking out just as easily. Occasionally, there were humans who did not fall for the misdirection so easily. Luckily, Sari and Miko were the gullible types.

"I don't see why you went to the trouble of hiding. Seems like a waste of energy to me," Psi drawled boredly, having condensed into the form of a black-armoured transformer sprawled lifelessly across his seat. A single glance of the lacklustre form spoke novels of the Fallen's current state. It was as the _Others_ had hoped: Psi was suffering for his deal. A week in Mikaela's company while forced to tone down his usual mischief to the bare minimum had drained him of what little reserved he had. He could barely contain himself in a solid form, let alone sit upright.

Anubis could not help but draw back his jowls in a sneering laugh. "Yes, I don't imagine you have much energy to spare at the moment. Finally starting to feel the burn, are we?"

Psi glowered poisonously.

Horus flicked a glance at his company, smirking at the alien's suffering. "It serves you right."

Again, the Fallen had no clever response. All the humour that had buoyed him in the airport quickly sputtered out the moment he realized that there were _Others _aboard the company jet. He had no illusions about their presence. Horus and Anubis were gods of war and death. They did not care for Mikaela's health as others would. It was likely on principle alone that they checked on her to make sure she was safe and sane. The true reason they were present was for Psi's suffering – the more the better. It was like quality entertainment for them, watching a formerly high-ranking alien dark god shrivel up into a husk of his former self while at the mercy of Earth's _Others_. Every little bit of misery counted.

Any other time, Psi might have cared. He would have delighted in thwarting their desire for his suffering. But he was tired now. His energy was dwindling to a dangerous low, with the scraps of chaos he absorbed from the humans barely being enough to keep him semi-tangible. He had tried only once to return to his true form hiding in anti-space above the planet, desperately in need of the boost it would give him. Nemesis had been lying in wait for him. The fight had been pitiful, resulting in an extreme drain on Psi that prompted his incitement of several human suicides simply so he could feed from the resulting misery.

If he did not reach the Allspark soon and plead his case, he would fade before he even had a chance to make good on all his dastardly nefarious evil plans. Plans that included swallowing his pride and begging for help – but it sounded so much more appealing when he called them dastardly nefarious evil plans.

"You are awfully quiet," Horus observed.

"I'm thinking," Psi retorted mulishly, slumping down deeper into his seat.

"That's a first," Anubis snorted.

Psi cut them a black glare that deflated quickly when he lacked the energy to sustain the look. It only served to garner more cruel laughter from the backwater hillbilly _Others_. He wanted to spit curses at them. Maybe possess the airplane and make it take a sudden nosedive into the nearest lake. Or even more fun, he would pluck Horus of his feathers and use them to tar and feather Anubis. Not his most impish ideas ever, though extenuating circumstances gave him a good excuse for his lack of creativity.

He faded out from the seat, letting himself disperse into an incorporeal gaseous cloud. Much easier on his energy reserves. It caused the other gods to laugh at him, believing that he had run away when he had run out of witty banter.

Though it burned to be laughed at by low-class Others from the boondocks of the universe, Psi let them laugh.

It was only a matter of time before the final playing pieces were in place and he would be able to play his checkmate.

Who would have the last laugh then, huh? He would. And he has just the right villainous laugh ready for the occasion.

_Mwa. Ha. Ha. Ha. _


	38. To Make an Entrance

Finally, Mikaela gets back to where she belongs. It's been too long. No more going back and forth between scenes where she is dead and where she is alive. Although, if people are thinking this will be the last of the twists int his story, clearly you have not been paying attention to my writing style. =P

Thanks so much to all the readers who reviewed for the last chapter and reminded me that I just have to keep on swimming. Thanks to **Dazja, CNightJoy, Bluebird Soaring, Nnaliseaai, luinrina, Flameshield, Gamemice, femme4jack, Faecat, Nikkie2010, Starscream II, Haag, Ciel Celeste, Mya, Phoenix51, Lecidre**, and **Frenzy5150**. I am so grateful to all of you! Thank you for being such wonderful people!

**May We Never Let Go  
To Make an Entrance**

The floors felt like ice beneath the soles of her feet.

It was after midnight, and the house was silent. A silence that sat so heavily upon the night that it was crushing, like the depths of a dark ocean weighted upon the supports of the house. The pressure of the quiet went unnoticed by the sleeping bodies in the house. They sprawled on the floors, on the couches, and on the carpet in the dinning room. The bodies slept even heavier than the silence that weighed upon them.

Chase breathed in and she could almost taste the quietness on her tongue. It pressed in on her lungs, wrapped around and around her like a heavy blanket. For days after Mikaela's death, the silence trapped inside the walls had driven her insane. It had been a living thing that haunted her with a vengeance, growing louder while she drank until it was quiet again when she passed out. Chase had wanted to scream at it, rage at it – and, maybe, in an alcohol inspired fury, she had done just that.

But now, she found that even the weight of the silence was better than the sound of Hound's crying. Anything was better than the sound of his crying.

She wasn't sure if it had been the right thing to bring him home with her. For all she knew, it was the absolute worst thing she ever could have done. What she did know what that it had been killing him to be near his real frame. His pain had been so real to the point that it hurt others to be near him as he stared at the green paint and heavy metal and could only see what had been done to him deep beneath the desert sands. Physically, Hound was in better shape than he had ever been in a very long time - thanks to the power of the Allspark. Inside, he was still battered and ruined and wrecked so badly that he would probably never be okay. Nemesis had hurt him in ways that were painful and permanent.

To spare him anymore agony, Ratchet had given them the tentative okay to move Hound off base. It was with the promise that the scout would see Doctor Spring as soon as possible to set up counselling. Hound left base as a human hologram, made portable by Wheeljack's clever device. He did not meet the optics of any of his fellow Cybertronians. He did not look into Chase's oil black eyes.

Mirage drove them home, making no comment about the arrangement.

Chase had guided Hound into the house and watched wordless and helpless as the hologram looked around as if he were a stranger. Glinting eyes that appeared brown like damp earth when you looked directly at them, but flickered electric blue from the corner of your eye, wandered over the mess and jumble with an air of awe. Of fear. Of longing and mistrust. He had leaned on Chase like all the strength in his matrix drained out and she was his only support. His steps were unsteady. Chase was weak and exhausted by the time she had guided him up the stairs and into her bedroom. It was an unspoken agreement between them that he would not go downstairs into his apartments. Those rooms were for Autobot Hound, and in that moment he was not Autobot Hound. He was anyone else except for the mech who had lain in the dirt while burning cold hands had dug inside him and pulled out more than just his innards.

Chase had placed Hound upon her bed, guided him to the centre of the mattress, where he had fallen over like a dead tree. His brown skin was shockingly vibrant against the rumpled white sheets. Rough whiskers on his cheeks scratched at the pillow he hugged tightly to his face.

And then he began to cry.

Terrible, loud, wrenching sobs from deep, deep down inside of him. Sometimes they were human sounds, and sometimes they were not. He cried as Chase stood over him, leaning away from the bed as if frightened to touch him. He still cried when Chase climbed onto the sagging mattress to join him, cursing softly as she brought her arms around his shaking body and held him tight. She cried too, but not as loudly. Her ears hurt from the pitch of his sobs. It was human and inhuman at the same time. Her ribs hurt from how tightly he had held her. Maybe it was hours that Hound had held on to her, but eventually his arms loosened. Those terrible, gut-wrenching, soul-deep sobs quieted. In the end, Hound stopped moving all together, and Chase figured he had cried himself to sleep – or whatever the equivalent was in holograms.

Now it was after midnight, and the floors were like ice beneath the soles of Chase's feet.

She wore only a pair of underwear and a long, loose t-shirt that covered the bottom of her arse and not much else. The upstairs hall was dark as pitch and silent as the grave. She had not invited anyone into her house, but they were there regardless of her wishes. Not that she could see them, or hear them, or even taste them in the dark, but they were there nonetheless. They had come while she had held Hound, letting him cry himself out. They had cleaned up. The air hinted at lemony fresh scents and laundered clothing, fresh air that had not been allowed in the Banes household for days. All of them were sleeping now, waiting for the next day to come, so that they could all get the business of Mikaela's funeral out of the way.

Light shone from beneath the closed door to Mikaela's room.

Blue light, like the shine of a television, except the light did not flicker. It was steady and bright. An odd buzzing noise rang in Chase's ears the nearer she came to the light. A strange, high-pitched buzz like an electric current. Her feet passed into the puddle of the blue, surprised to find it warm instead of cool. Not overly hot, yet not overly cool; it was the warmth of lingering body heat left behind after someone walked away. It was also electric, all tingling and snappy against her brown skin. A shiver passed down her spine as she pushed her palm against the door. The latch hadn't caught properly, letting the wooden door swing open on silent hinges.

More light spilled out through the doorway.

Sam was standing in the room, in front of the large window that stretched like an unsmiling mouth across the wall that faced the doorway. Between himself and Chase stood the bed, whose blankets were left in the exact disarray Mikaela had left them. The mess on the floor was untouched. Not even Chase had dared come into the room while neck-deep in her self-determined downward spiral to the bottom of a bottle. If she had come into this room, the emptiness of it would have swallowed her whole. She wouldn't have been able to come out. There should have been a musky oldness in the air, but the open window dispelled the staleness in the air and replaced it with cold air that smelled like the desert and something strangely sweet.

Sam looked taller than he was supposed to be as he stood in silhouette. For some reason, he looked both larger and smaller than what his physical body would have allowed. A part of him was expanding outward, pressing upon the air with a presence that was so intensely heavy that it outweighed the silence on a planetary scale. Another part of him appeared withered and shrunken, eaten away from the inside and faded from the outside. If Chase had been closer to the boy, she would have been able to see that his feet were not touching the floor.

Swirling and curling across his skin were lightning blue patterns that glowed with heat. They pulsed like the beat of a heart. The light he radiated was warm and steady, the light that had warmed Chase's feet and now warmed her whole front as she stood in the glow. Hair along her arms and on the back of her neck prickled. The raised welt across her chest where Sam had pinned her only hours earlier throbbed hotly, as if it knew its inflicter was near.

Chase held no grudge against the kid. There was such a quality to the scene that she was half-convinced she was dreaming. No point in holding grudges in dreams, right? Well, no point in holding grudges in real life either. That never stopped her, though. But this was a dream. She wasn't shocked to see him in the room. It made sense, in an odd sort of way. Maybe she should have been afraid. A sane person would have been afraid. But this was a dream, maybe, and the silence was too heavy in the house to break it with a scream.

It occurred to her that this was not a scene that she was welcomed in. She should not be seeing this. Even though her feet would freeze again on the ice of the floor if she left the warmth of the light, she averted her eyes and backed away. The hallway seemed darker now than it did before, darker than pitch. Darker than dark. Maybe it stretched on forever and she just couldn't see it.

Warmth breathed against the back of her neck, a peculiar scent wafting with it. A scent that came with ancient beings who lived long enough to see the stars shine and die. An endless scent that was one part time and two parts power. Ozone and starlight and the taste of bitter pennies on her tongue.

Chase turned into the warmth. Her heart suddenly sputtered in her chest like the turning over of an old, stubborn engine. Sam was less than a breath away. So close now that Chase could see that he did not look at all like himself. Same skin, same shape, but the person underneath who wore the costume was wearing it in a slightly different way from the way Sam wore his skin naturally. The lines of his face had shifted, making him look both young and old. Blue stars had come to replace his eyes, glowing deeply and powerfully within the dark pits of his eye sockets. Now it was clear that his feet were not touching the floor. He was suspended somehow, legs and feet dangling like dead weight. He did not cast a shadow.

"There is no such thing as death."

Chase blinked, not sure if she had heard the words or if she had imagined the echo inside her skull.

Sam's lips had not moved.

"There are endings. There are beginnings. But there is no such thing as death," said Sam in a voice that was not Sam's voice. It might not have been English at all. The voice stretched from one side of the universe to the other, deeper and heavier than the silence. More real than reality itself. It was the sound of power. Of time. Of things that had no name.

Chase understood what was said anyways.

"Okay," she said.

And suddenly it felt as if Mikaela was not quite as dead as she was supposed to be.

"Okay," she said again, stepping around Sam's shoulder and making her way back down the hall toward her bedroom. She could not remember why she had been walking down the hallway in the first place. Each step she took, the floor got colder and the glow got dimmer. There were still people downstairs, sleeping bodies whose dreams were undisturbed by the glowing creature in Mikaela's room. The silence was still so heavy it was suffocating.

On a whim, before she crossed over threshold to her own room, she looked back. The door to Mikaela's room was closed again. The light was steady and blue.

It occurred to Chase that whoever she had been talking to, it had not been Sam at all.

Hound was awake in her room, sitting on the floor in front of the open closet. He had pulled out the old wooden chest filled with years worth of lovely gifts he had collected for Chase. The light through the balcony window made him ghostlike, silvered brown skin where the starlight touched and blackened earthen brown where the shadows clung. If you looked too hard, he almost appeared pixelated. Scarves, clothes, statuettes, bangles and bobbles tangled and glittered across the floor like hidden treasure. He was not looking at the treasure, but instead staring off into the darkness of the closet. The fingers of his right hand traced absently over the plain golden band that circled the third finger of his left hand.

Chase crouched next to the hunched body, drawing the tips of her fingers down his back. He felt warm, like real human flesh. Her other hand reached around, brushing his fingers out of the way so that she could trace that telling golden band that circled his finger.

"I was going to tell you," he mumbled, watching her callused fingers stroke over the fake gold. There was almost an accent to the words, but not quite. He couldn't bring himself to be the bot he used to be. "Mikaela made me promise to tell you... when the time was right. This isn't the right time."

"No, it's not the right time."

He leaned back into her, and Chase brought her arms around his large body. She petted his flank like she would pet a large, mournful dog. Her other hand did not leave the golden band.

"I thought I was being clever, putting you in my directory like that," he murmured, turning his face into her ragged black hair. He rubbed his cheek into the tresses, able to take comfort in her scent. She smelled much better now that she was showered. His lips brushed the hollow of her throat. "I bought you all these gifts like you were mine. I changed my matrix, put the ring on. You never noticed. I thought I was being clever, hiding in plain sight."

Chase laughed through her nose, though it was so quiet that it might have been a puff of air.

"I did notice," she said, rubbing her cheek into the kitten soft mop of hair that grew wild from the top of Hound's head. Hound had shot Mikaela, but Chase held him in her embrace. She couldn't bring herself to walk away now. The sounds of his sobbing still haunted her. "I noticed a long time ago, but I didn't say anything. I was scared. I didn't want things to change."

"Things changed anyways," Hound sighed.

"Yeah, they did." She cupped his rough cheek, pulling backwards until they were laid out on the cold floor. The scarves and the soft clothes felt nice against the backs of her thighs. Hound's weight was heavy and real on top of her. He was a hologram, but he was also real. His weight was real, the feeling of him was real, and his pain was real.

"We can't go back to the way things were," Hound murmured, pressing his face into her chest. The softness of her beasts cushioned him and comforted him. The stubble along his jaw scratched through the thin cotton, though Chase did not mind. She did not mind the feeling of warmth seep through her shirt, or the way her nipples hardened as he pressed his face as close as he could. He brought his arms around her and held her body tight, almost crushing.

There was still a dreamlike quality to the whole thing.

Chase stared at the ceiling, running her hands up and down Hound's body. The patterns of light and dark across the ceiling were hypnotizing. Soothing. She sighed and kissed the top of the dark head that was pressed into her chest. She remembered what the thing in Sam's body had said.

"Things end, but it doesn't have to be forever," Chase murmured. "Things also begin, you know? Different things."

Hound started crying again.

Maybe it was a dream, but Chase fell asleep anyways.

* * *

"Okay, so, how far away is your house from here?" Sari wondered, peering in all directions from the parking lot of the airport that sat on the outskirts of Tranquillity. She looked around as if she would see a clue that would lead her in the right direction.

"The base is that way," Frenzy said, pointing in the direction of town but meaning much farther along than that. The Earth Defence Command base was a two hour drive outside the town.

"My house is also that way," Mikaela admitted. "I'm maybe an hour away from the outside of town, probably less."

"You live in the desert?" Miko asked skeptically.

"Yeah, I guess," Mikaela shrugged, hugging her winter coat to her chest. It wasn't cold under the winter Nevadan sun, but it also wasn't very warm. It was possibly average, lukewarm, in the place between being too warm for a jacket and too cold not to have something covering your arms. Mikaela's legs felt chilled through her stockings.

"You some kind of hermit?" Miko wondered.

"No," Mikaela replied automatically, and then paused, bit her lip, and shrugged again. "Maybe, I don't know. I like the quiet out in the desert. No one bothers us out there."

From up above, something cold but unseen cackled delightedly. Close to them, the car alarm on someone's car went off, startling the Cybertronians in their company. They were on edge anyways, ever since it came to their attention that Mikaela was currently playing pawn to The Fallen. Rumble looked ready to shoot the car, though Ravage blinked at it and the car alarm quieted.

Sari laughed nervously. "That was random."

"Yeah," Miko agreed warily, frowning suspiciously.

They started to move through the parking lot for no reason, without direction, mostly to get away from the car that had spooked them. The sound of rolling luggage followed them. Ravage tugged one along behind him, gripped by the tip of his tail. Frenzy dragged the other. Mikaela didn't actually have any luggage, so her hands were empty.

"What time is it?" Mikaela suddenly wondered.

"A little before noon," Ravage reported. His head rested at the height of Mikaela's shoulder, and his single red optic still held sympathy in its frightening depths. "We will be in time, do not worry."

"You'd know what time it was if you hadn't slept the whole time," Miko teased.

"I was tired," Mikaela countered. "It's been a long week. I'm ready to go home now and get this over with." She pushed her fingers through her hair, forgetting that she had been forced to put her wig back on. "I also want to get out of this stupid costume. I am not showing up at home looking like this. My aunt would probably pitch a fit."

Not that there wasn't going to be a fit anyways, seeing as she was coming back from the dead and all.

Sari tilted her head, lips pursing. "Your aunt doesn't like well-dressed young women in snappy grey silk suits?"

"No, she just doesn't like white people all that much," Mikaela laughed. It felt good to laugh – even if the joke wasn't all that appropriate. "I'd call her racist, but she hates everyone equally."

Miko grinned, giving Sari a good nudge in the side. "I guess we're okay, huh?"

Sari snorted playfully.

"You saved my life," Mikaela said. "I got a feeling Chase is going to love you for it."

"But first we have to get to your house," Sari reminded. "Is there a car rental around here? Maybe a taxi that would take us out far enough?"

"Now, see, that's just plain insulting when you say something like that right in front of us," Rumble huffed, crossing his thick arms over his chest. "There ain't no better ride on this planet than one of us."

Miko squinted at the Neutral-Decepticon, whom she had gotten to know quite well over furious DDR battles. She had lost every single match. "You only got two wheels."

Rumble stuck his olfactory sensor in the air. "It's not the number of tyres that count, it's what you do with them."

He promptly transformed into a powerful looking dirt bike, revving like a beast, and daring anyone brave enough to sit on him. The casing looked like plastic, but it was actually metal armour – Mikaela knew how good some Cybertronians could be at making themselves look like things that they weren't. He had a licence plate that hosted the symbol for the Neutral-Decepticons and a number that, should he be identified by the police, would bring his profile up in the DMV database.

Miko dug into her pocket, pulled out her cell phone, and took a picture. It was just a picture of a dirt bike, but it was the thought that counted. "Yeah, okay, two wheels work just fine."

Frenzy took the hint and transformed as well, dropping the suitcase he had been tugging behind him.

A family was crossing through the airport parking lot with two small children in tow. The sound that heralded Cybertronian transformation caught their attention and drew their eyes to the miraculous sight of a seven-foot-tall alien robot collapsing down into something small and mundane like a dirt bike. The children shouted hellos across the lot, waving frenetically. The parents were more suspicious, quickly ushering their children away with nervous smiles and whispered words. Decepticons, even the most friendly of the lot, had a hard time gaining the trust of humans – they just didn't look friendly enough, not like the typical colourful, open-faced Autobots.

Ravage shook his head with a disgusted sigh. He missed Carnéval already. The humans weren't as jumpy there.

Miko had already mounted Rumble and was revving the engine like a wild thing. She looked like she knew what she was doing. A makeshift helmet formed out of extra parts, popping up like a tumour behind the seat. The bodyguard took the helmet and strapped it on eagerly.

Sari circled around Frenzy cautiously. "I'm not going to be too heavy, am I?"

"No," Frenzy assured. "I've carried heavier things."

She hiked up her skirt so she could mount the dirt bike. All the extra cloth, she tucked between her legs so she didn't end up accidentally flashing oncoming traffic.

Ravage gave a shudder before folding into a mean looking 4-wheeler that might have eaten kittens for breakfast. He nudged against Mikaela's side, inviting her to climb onto the deep seat waiting for her. She did just that, heaving herself up and tucking her jacket around her waist and between her legs to prevent any untoward flashing of residents of the town. A helmet appeared, which she strapped on.

Laserbeak and Buzzsaw snatched the luggage from the ground and flew off with them.

No one stopped them through town, which was nice. They passed only one police cruiser, who briefly flashed his lights at them, only to peer at the plates on the dirt bikes and 4-wheeler and figured it wasn't worth the trouble to go after a couple of Cybertronians. The police officer dismissed the girls on the machines as holograms – even as one of the girls with bright red hair waved at him as if she were on parade.

They did not head out to the desert right away. Instead, they detoured to the suburban sprawl called West Point on the far side of town that stretched out like a growing cancer from the side of Tranquillity. It had grown a lot since the town had become a hub for alien activity; all of the suburbs surrounding Tranquillity had felt the need to expand. Tranquillity was no longer so tranquil, though it was still a decent place to live. In West Point, large homes ranging from middle-class to upper middle-class homes sprung up on either side of the street, with their perfectly manicured lawns and disturbingly smiling garden gnomes. The newer houses were cookie-cutter houses, all of them made from the same basic design, just different colours, and none of them had any personality. The older houses in West Point, the ones who had been there before Tranquillity became a hot spot on the intergalactic map, were more unique and possessed a personality to them that was a bit snotty and a bit superior, as if they sat on their plots of land with their noses turned up, saying to the world, "We were here first."

There was one house in particular that made Mikaela's heart seize.

"Witwicky," Frenzy suddenly intoned, pulling into the driveway of the specified house. His engine revved low. "I remember this place."

"You were evil back then," Mikaela replied, dismounting from Ravage's back and allowing the feline robot to resume his regular form.

"I don't think 'evil' is the right word for it," Frenzy replied absently.

Mikaela wrinkled her nose, almost agreeing – and then she remembered that Frenzy had torn Sam's pants off in the junkyard while Bumblebee and Barricade had fought. She had been forced to hack Frenzy's head off with a saw. The memory did not sit well with her, and she wondered if it sat well with Frenzy. Maybe 'evil' wasn't the right word for the ex-Decepticon, but he certainly hadn't been good.

She cleared her throat, adjusting her wind-rumpled clothes. "Ron and Judy aren't home. They're probably already on their way to the... um, yeah, my funeral." It was strange to say it out loud, as if that act made it more than real. "I just wanted to take a shower and get all this crap off my face first. They won't mind. We can get something to eat, too."

"Breaking and entering. I like it," Miko laughed. "And I thought bringing you home would be boring."

The breaking in part turned out to be unnecessary. Even though Mikaela knew where the extra key was hidden, No One had the door unlocked before she even touched the knob. He was laughing in the house, but it was a faded sound like ghosts from an era long past. Sari and Miko dismissed the noise as the pipes in the walls, or something mundane like that. The Cybertronians were wary of even setting foot in the house, but did so after some polite coaxing.

There was eagerness in the air from the dark spectre, prickling along Mikaela's skin. He was more energetic than he had been in days. The light grey shadows throughout the rooms danced in time to his excitement. Soon, he would get what he wanted and Mikaela would blessedly be free of him.

While Mikaela headed upstairs, the rest of her ragtag team stayed downstairs to explore the Witwicky household. Sari thought it was interesting, sneaking around the house of the parent of the first ambassador between Earth and the Cybertronians. There was not a lot of evidence of aliens in the house. Beyond a few photographs that hosted smiling metal faces, the house easily could have belong to the parents of a dentist. Miko was less impressed, and definitely less inclined to touch anything. She went snooping through the kitchen to find something to eat and was aided by Laserbeak, who inisted she was a master in the art of making tea.

Frenzy sat in the living room with the other symbiotes, regaling his brethren with his misadventures in this house. They had already heard all the stories, but there was nothing else to do so they listened one more time to the stories of Frenzy rummaging desperately through underwear drawers and piles of dirty magazines to fine one little pair of glasses. The story only stayed funny because of how rediculous it was that the fate of their world had rested on the shoulders of a scrawny human boy and a pair of tiny, antique glasses.

Mikaela took her much needed shower. The makeup washed off, her muscles relaxed under the beat of hot water. Her heart still beat a nervous tattoo against the inside of her chest. Over the rush of the hot water, her blood rushed in her ears like tides against the shore. Fear and adrenaline made her twitchy and lightheaded. No matter how hot the water was, it did nothing to make her feel better about showing up in the middle of her own funeral. She got out of the shower and wrinkled her nose when the steam smelled like musty attics, colder against her skin than it should have been.

"No One," she said.

The steam wafted in a peculiar motion, darkening to an unhealthy grey. A glowing amber stare formed out of water droplets.

"There's power in this house," he said in that reedy, oily voice of his.

"Sam lived here for a while after he was possessed by the Allspark," Mikaela replied, wrapping a towel firmly around her body. "Some of the Allspark power must have leaked into the walls."

"Yes," agreed the Fallen, swirling and churning in the grey steam. "We leave behind pieces of ourselves wherever we go. The Allspark was in this place. I can feel it."

"What happens when I take you to the real Allspark?" Mikaela asked, taking out the hairdryer and flicking it on. It took a couple seconds for the air to heat up, blowing a steady, musky breeze across her face and hair. "Urgh, why do you have to stink so much?"

The Fallen drew away, gathering into a corner with an air of pouting. "I smell like I do because I am rotten inside," was his answer.

"Oh," Mikaela breathed, her hair shifting in time to the hairdryer.

"I used to be good. Once. A long time ago," No One intoned absently, even a little wistfully. "My power used to come from Primus. I was made from entropy, from change and chaos in the universe, and I was unique from my brethren at the same time that I was just like them. We were all good, in our own way."

Mikaela found herself asking, "What happened?"

"Many things happened. Life happened. Time happened. Chaos happened." he trailed off, those bright amber optics blinking slowly. "All the good things inside died when I turned to Unicron for power. There's a big gaping hole inside where all the goodness used to be, and a whole bunch of rotten stuff now sits there. That is why I smell like I do."

Mikaela had not been expecting such a candid answer. She had no proper reply. The sound of the hairdryer was too loud in the small, steamy room.

"I am weak right now," No One admitted. "I have been haemorrhaging power every moment I am with you."

"Good. You deserve it."

"Maybe I do," the Fallen sighed. "But right now, if I fade away, who will be here to tell the Autobots about Nemesis? I know where he is, what he is, and how to kill him." He twisted and churned in their air. "The Allspark has power I can boost myself with. I won't hurt him. I promise. I am trying to help you kill Nemesis, but I need power before I fade away. The Allspark is the best power source around."

"Right..." Mikaela finished drying her hair in silence, and then wandered to Sam's old room to see if there was anything left of his to wear. The room had been converted years ago into a hobby room for Ron and Judy. The closet still held boxes with Sam's things in them. She found a pair of jeans to put on, slightly too big for herself, and then donned the bra and blouse she had been wearing before.

The Fallen had followed her into the room, reflecting darkly in the mirror on the wall like a second shadow.

"No," he said, clucking a tongue he didn't have. "That's not how you make an entrance."

"What?"

"That. That right there. You look exactly as you did before. You can't look like that."

"You're not making any sense," Mikaela snapped. "Go away, will you? Go flush a toilet or blow up the toaster. Whatever you've been doing to entertain yourself."

"No. No. No toilets. I'm thinking here, and that's hard work. You have to be_ just right."_

"Are you insane?"

"Well, yes, of course. Who do you think you're talking to?" He huffed and puffed like a haughty bag of air. "Here, I think I have enough power..."

He rushed at her like he had rushed at her the day he saved her life. There was mad laughter in the air as he swirled around and around like a miniature tornado. His touch was cool and slimy against her skin. Mikaela clamped her mouth shut, resisting the need to call for help. There was nothing anyone could do to help her. For a moment, the small tornado sucked the air from the room and she couldn't breathe. Her clothes felt too tight, squeezing in on her from all directions.

"Don't worry, my pet. Don't worry. It's all going to be fine," Psi cackled.

His words were not reassuring.

Moments later, the wind settled and then blew out all together. No One stopped laughing. Mikaela looked down at herself and was stunned to find her blouse and jeans were nowhere in sight. In their place, a black leather catsuit clung to her like a second skin. She touched the material with the tip of her finger, poking it experimentally. It _felt_ like leather. It smelled, vaguely, like leather – and it also smelled like it had been left in a damp basement for too long. The colour of it was deeper than any shade of black she had ever seen on a leather jacket.

"There, much better. Much, much better," said the Fallen. His voice came from everywhere, undeniably proud of his handiwork. The leather of the outfit vibrated with his words.

"Oh, gross! This is you?" Mikaela exclaimed.

"Who else would it be?" No One retorted snottily.

"_Are you okay up there?"_ Miko called through the floor. _"Are you talking to yourself again?"_

Mikaela pulled at her hair and crossed her eyes. "Yes, I'm talking to myself!"

"_Okay, just making sure." _

The Fallen snickered, vibrating around Mikaela's body.

"Ew. Ew. Stop that," Mikaela ordered in a hissed whisper. "Am I supposed to be Catwoman or something?" She picked at the material, prying it away from her skin. There were no seams in it. No zippers. It looked as if it had been poured around her body. A strange sort of cool heat erupted up the sides, following the paths of red accents that suddenly burned into the material. They glowed with a light of their own, a distant red glow like banked fire. Across her back, two amber eyes blinked to life on the leather.

"Catwoman? That whore," Psi scoffed. He was not thinking of Catwoman from the Batman comics – mostly because he had never read the Batman comics. Psi was, in fact, thinking of the only cat women he knew, who were Egyptian and hissed at him whenever he got too close.

Mikaela rolled her eyes. "Okay, whatever, get off of me. I don't like you touching me. I feel like I should take another shower now."

"You can't come back from the dead looking the same as you did dying. You have to look different. That's the rules, you know," he whined, clinging to her tighter. "Everyone always comes back from the dead looking better than they did when they died. Except zombies. But you're not a zombie."

"You're supposed to be evil," Mikaela hissed. "You're not supposed to follow the rules!"

"I_ am_ evil," Psi replied mulishly. "I am the most evil sort of evil you will ever meet! But you can't just go waltzing back to the Autobots looking like some rumpled sort of hobo. Especially not if you're introducing me! No. No. I won't hear of it. You are mine and I will do with you as I want."

Mikaela narrowed her eyes and thinned her lips, wishing she could punch herself hard enough to hurt the demon clinging to her. What a petulant little brat. Like a child with a toy and a stubborn streak a mile wide.

Light footsteps pattered up the stairs at the end of the hall. "Lunch is ready," Sari called, hovering at the landing. "Come on before it gets cold."

"Coming," Mikaela called back, taking once last look at herself in a mirror and grimacing at the reflection that winked back with amber eyes and sharp teeth. Okay, she was strong. She could deal with this. It was only temporary. Soon, No One would be with the Autobots and Mikaela wouldn't have to deal with the insanity anymore.

Sari took one look at Mikaela's outfit, one cherry brow winging up in question. She was too polite to say anything about it, instead leading the way down the stairs.

"Whoa," Miko commented as Mikaela shuffled into the kitchen. "You take that from Sam's mom? She some kind of biker babe? Or into S&M?"

Mikaela's cheeks flared hot and red. "No, it's not that. I found it in the closet in Sam's room – it's mine from high school. I wanted to see if it still fits. Ta-da. It fits."

"I guess it's not the worst thing you could ever possibly wear," said the bodyguard, tilting a shoulder up with some reluctance. "It kind of makes you look like Catwoman, though."

"_That whore,"_ No One hissed, though it almost seems to come from Mikaela's own mouth.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Mikaela intoned with a forced smile.

It was going to be a long drive home.

* * *

Miles leaned on the counter in the kitchen and peered out the window into the backyard. Chairs were being set up for the people who intended to come to the service. They were uncomfortable looking grey metal chairs borrowed from the base. Not the sort of chairs meant to be sat in while commiserating about a lost friend.

The air to the whole thing was that it was hurried and last minute. Most people had mourned Mikaela for a week now. This was just a formality.

Miles had been to a few funerals in his lifetime, and none of them had been held in a backyard. He had been to funeral parlours, graveyards, and had even attended church services. This was his first backyard service. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel about it.

A slow moving body slouched into the kitchen and shuffled across the floor, making his way to the food piled on plates along the counter. It was after lunch, but this was the first time Sam had bothered to emerge from Mikaela's room. From his periphery, Miles could see how wane his best friend looked. A grey tint lingered in Sam's skin, and the blueness underneath was more pronounced. He looked exhausted.

From a plate of cold cuts, Sam picked up slices of pepperoni, salami, and bits of cheese. He chewed slowly, swallowing automatically. It was a perfunctory act. He probably didn't even taste the food.

"You're wearing my pants," he suddenly said without looking at Miles.

Miles looked down at himself, at the black pants he intended to wear to the service in an hour or so. "I was thinking they were a little short for me."

"These are your pants," Sam said, nodding to the pants he wore - too long in the leg for him and too narrow in the waist.

"Must have gotten mixed up in the dark when we drove over last night," Miles shrugged, popping the button and whisking down the zipper. Sam did the same, stripping off his trousers and exchanging them for the right pair.

Chase wandered into the kitchen at that moment, fully dressed in what she intended to wear to the service. It was the most dressed up either young man had ever seen her. She wore black slacks and a black blouse, her ragged hair swept back into something that might have resembled style. There was makeup on her face, but just enough to make her look human. Her tired black eyes landed on the pair of them, hesitating on Sam. She looked him up and down, pursing her lips, and then passing him over as if dismissing him like a bad dream.

Hound followed her in only a step behind, his eyes downcast. He was guided to the small table in the corner and pushed into a seat where he would be out of everyone's way. A moment later, he laid his head down on his folded arms and closed his eyes.

"Would you two get dressed?" Chase snapped. "Show some damned respect."

Quickly, the boys jumped into their proper pants.

Miles grabbed the glass of juice he had been sipping from, taking it with him when he was shooed away from the counter by the older woman. She grabbed a plate and piled it high with food in the same desperate manner a hungry man might horde food. Hoping to stay out of her way, Miles drifted out the back door to stand on the porch. It took him a second to realize Sam had followed him.

Will stopped unfolding chairs, raising a hand in greeting. "Hey, good to see you're up, Sam!"

"Yeah, thanks," Sam replied, waving back. He looked around for one of the dusty patio chairs, swept it off with his hand, and sat down. A glass of water was clutched in his hands. The water vibrated in time to his shaking hands.

Miles leaned against the porch railing, peering down at his friend. "I had a dream about you last night. Did you dream of anything?"

"No," Sam replied, offering a relieved smile. "I didn't dream of anything last night."

"Huh," Miles shrugged. "Well, my dream was about you, but it wasn't you. It was someone else who looked like you." He paused, tapping his fingers against the railing behind him. "I think it was the thing inside you."

"The Allspark."

"Right, that's what it's called." Miles sipped at his juice, set the glass aside, and then ran his fingers through his hair to push it away from his face. "It was a strange dream. You – the thing inside you – told me that there was no such thing as death. Scared me shitless, and then it was kind of comforting."

Sam cut him a sharp look. "Mikaela's dead."

Miles flinched. "I know, but..."

Without a word, Sam got up from the patio chair and walked away. Not that anyone could blame him for being a little moody. Poor guy had a lot to deal with.

"I guess it wasn't as comforting as I thought it would be," Miles sighed to himself. A shadow moved in the kitchen window, Chase standing on the other side of the mesh with an intense look in her dark eyes.

"You dream last night?" Miles wondered.

"No." She walked away with a soured look on her face.

Miles stayed on the porch until the sound of approaching cars broke the tension in the air. Some were normal Earth cars, but most of them were Cybertronian. It wasn't an overly large crowd. Optimus Prime, flanked by Ironhide on one side and a tiny pink shape on the other that could only be Elita One. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe drove in Elita One's shadow, invited personally by the Prime's sparkmate because she 'had a feeling' they should be there. Sideswipe had begged Roulette to come with him, so she hung back in the crowd in her bright white alt mode, made dusty by the desert. Arcee zipped along on two wheels, and Bluestreak hung close to the ground as he trundled along. Jazz and Prowl came out of a sense of duty, while Ratchet, Wheeljack, and tiny little Tungsten came because Mikaela had been a friend to them.

The group looked empty without Bumblebee with them.

As one, they transformed. Metal titans coming to their feet, appearing so tall that their heads seemed to brush the sky. No matter how many times Miles saw them, he still reserved a part of himself to be amazed that he lived in a world where creatures like these could exist.

Chase came out of the house with Hound once more on her heels. His hand was tucked into her hand. Chase's eyes glinted like shards of black glass in the midday light. The way her mouth twisted, it was like she was fighting the words that wanted to spill out. Maybe she didn't blame Hound entirely for Mikaela's death, but she sure as hell blamed the Cybertronians as a whole. If they had never come to Earth, none of this would have happened.

Optimus knelt by the porch, his expression solemn. "I am so sorry for your loss."

"Of course you are," Chase replied, turning her back on him and walking to her seat. Hound did not look back at his kind. He sat down next to Chase and leaned into her body when her arms came around him and held him tightly.

Miles stared at Optimus's faceplate. A shadow passed over the Prime's faceplate. He shuttered his optics and sagged heavily.

"Come on, Optimus," Elita murmured, laying a gentle hand to his shoulder. "Come sit with us."

Slowly, the uncomfortable metal seats were filled. Every single one of them. People who came late were left to stand. The Cybertronians sat at the back of the crowd, gigantic, solemn, metal titans. Their colours faded until the reds, blues, yellows, and greens of their paint became like midnight. For this service, they wore the colours of mourning.

Miles pulled out a carefully folded sheaf of papers from his shirt pocket. It was written – scribble, actually – in blue ink. It was the only pen he could find. There were splotches of black ink, and red ink, and spaces that were crossed out and written over in pencil. He had started writing it a few days after Mikaela died. No one had said anything, but he knew it was going to fall to him to lead the service. Sam wasn't going to be able to, and Chase would... she would probably make things worse. The Cybertronians did not seem appropriate, and after that... there was no one else who was close enough to Mikaela to say the things that needed to be said.

There was a space in front of all the chairs. No microphone or stage. Just an empty space where he could stand and everyone could see him.

He tripped, and the papers went flying.

"I swear I didn't do that on purpose," Miles announced, scampering after his papers.

Sam lurched out of his seat and started herding loose papers together. There was almost a smile on his face when he handed over the bunch he had gathered. "Sorry for walking away from you earlier."

"Water under the bridge," Miles replied, wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders and hugging him tight.

Someone revved deeply from the back of the crowd.

"Wait," Elita One called. "We're not all here yet."

Startled, Miles froze at the front of the crowd and, inexplicably, started counting people as if he could figure out who was missing. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped with a flustered blush.

"Late?" Chase snapped. "Start without them. Everyone knew what was happening today."

"No, I don't think you'd want to do that," said the Prime's mate, rising to her feet and peering off toward the highway, in the direction of Tranquillity. She wasn't very tall compared to the others in her company. Optimus Prime sitting down was nearly as tall as Elita One was standing up.

"Ah, there they are," she announced just as the breeze brought the sound of distant engines. Two black dots circled overhead, soaring high and fast.

Miles walked around the house for a better look at the approaching smudges, watching as they jumped off the highway and barrelled through the hardened tracks in the dirt. Clouds of beige and brown kicked up behind them. To his ears, the high-pitched whine of the engines sounded like dirt bikes and something deeper and meaner sounding. The sun glinted off dark figures, clearing up a moment later to reveal two actual dirt bikes and a 4-wheeler, all with riders astride them. The dots in the sky turned out to be glinting metal birds, their massive metal wings spread so wide they could have been miniature airplanes.

"The symbiotes?" Bluestreak wondered, whose optics were the sharpest of all the Cybertronians present. "Shouldn't they be heading to base instead? Soundwave's there."

"They've got humans with them," Jazz said, still sitting down. There was no point in standing if he wasn't going to see anything. His sensors worked just fine either way. But then his head jerked back and surprise took his features. He was scrambling to his feet, Prowl scrambling after him to help.

The humans were stirring in their seats. Murmurs and whispers. Chase glared at the oncoming traffic, looking for all the world like she wanted them to be struck down by lightning. If there was any way to liven up a funeral, this was it. Of course things were not allowed to go quietly and normally for someone mixed up with the Cybertronians. In one way or another, they were going to find a way to ruin it.

Two dirt bikes skidded to impressive halts at the front of the gathering, kicking dirt onto Miles' pants. Up close, the riders were female. Rumble and Frenzy unfolded into their natural forms, grinning brightly and inappropriate in light of what they had just thoroughly interrupted. Laserbeak and Buzzsaw dropped from the sky, laying their luggage loads on the ground.

Ironhide's arms whirred and growled, reforming into his infamous cannons.

"Don't shoot!" cried one of the humans, tugging off her helmet to a cascade of bright red hair. "Please don't shoot!"

"Yeah," called the last human, sitting astride a mean looking 4-wheeler. "Don't shoot. I've had enough of bots with big guns shooting at me." She wore black leather from head to foot, clinging to her in a manner that made it very clear what sex she belonged to. Her voice was muffled through the helmet, her face hidden by tinted glass. That body, though...

Sam shot to his feet, stumbling several steps. It felt as if someone just punched him in the stomach.

"Give me a second," said the black-clad woman. "Let me get this stupid helmet off."

Mikaela's fingers were trembling so badly that she could hardly undo the strap beneath her chin. Hidden behind the tinted visor, her eyes stung with tears. Her funeral was unexpectedly crowded. There were people there she had expected, and some she had never dreamed to see. On a very satisfying level, it was good to know that so many people thought enough about her to show up for her funeral.

The Fallen squeezed around her, excited and insane, eager to see what would happen.

Finally, she managed the buckle and loosened the helmet, tugging it away with a final relish.

"I'm home!"

"Holy shit," someone exclaimed – it might have been Chase.

Miles sucked in a strangled breath, stumbling backwards until his shoe caught on the leg of his pants, sending him sprawling backwards into the dirt. Or maybe he fainted.

Sam choked, rocking forward a step, then back. His mouth floundered like that of a fish out of water. If he still had blood running through his veins, it suddenly drained elsewhere, making his whole body feel cold and numb, so stunned that not even his lungs were working. His heart, though. God, his heart suddenly burned. His real heart. Not the damned Allspark inside him. The hot, bloody beat of his heart told him it was Mikaela. _His_ Mikaela. Back from the dead.

It was Mikaela's face. Her voice. Her body.

If he came close enough, he knew he would be able to smell her skin.

"Mikaela?" he breathed dryly, discovering all the moisture had dried up in his mouth, his lips papery, his tongue trapped to the roof of his mouth. He reached his hand out to her, then scared himself. His arm dropped back down to his side.

"Yeah, Sam, it's me. It's _really_ me," Mikaela promised, her grin wavering amidst the gobsmacked stares that zeroed in on her like lasers. A couple of tears leaked down her cheeks.

"It's... not possible," Ratchet murmured.

"It's a long story," Mikaela laughed haplessly, a little desperately. "I'll fill you all in later."

"This could be trick," Prowl reasoned with his usual stickler's frown.

"It's not a trick!" Sari exclaimed. She was curling a finger through her hair in a nervous gesture. The Asian women next to her was nonchalantly using her iPhone to take pictures of all the Cybertronians. None of what was happening appeared to bother her.

"Prove it," Prowl insisted.

Mikaela arched her brows high, placed her hands on her hips, and gave the tactician her best imperious look. "I can prove it's not a trick. I know things that only I would know and no one else." Another grin lit her features, the kind that was wondrous and amazed. "Wow, just like in the movies. Never thought I would have to do something like this... Do you remember that time, about three years ago, when Chase and I had to file a report with the police about the vandals that broke into our garage and totally ransacked the place?"

"Uh oh," Jazz breathed, chuckling as he shook his head. "Ya couldn't keep your mouthplates shut."

"I know who actually ransacked the garage. It wasn't even a real ransacking. It was you and Jazz having some 'special alone time' together-" and she used air quotes like she meant to slap the bot in the faceplate with them, "-and I totally lied for you so you didn't get in trouble. You remember that don't you? Because I do."

"You bastards," Chase swore. There hadn't been a lot of damage from the incident, but it was the principal of using her much beloved garage as a love motel that was offensive.

Jazz laughed.

Prowl, understandably, looked mortified.

"Anyone else want to not believe it's me?" Mikaela challenged with an evil glint in her eyes. Psi was having more of an affect on her than she cared to admit. She spotted Sideswipe's red armour and nailed him with a sharp pointed finger. "I once had to pull out three pink G-strings from one of his air vents. I didn't ask any questions."

"I was holding them for a friend!" Sideswipe exclaimed.

Sunstreaker face-palmed.

Mikaela was on a roll.

"Simmons, when you first arrested the Witwicky family, I took your clothes away. You were wearing Sector Seven underwear," she chimed off. Her eyes landed on Sam, precious Sam, and she wanted to reach her arms out and wrap him in a hug that would never end. But No One had a hold of her, she could feel his influence sinking in like black roots burrowing down. Her mouth was moving on its own.

"Sam," she cooed. "Oh Sam." Her fingers traced down his hollowed cheek. "The first time we had sex, you cried. It was so sweet. I took your virginity."

Fear and confusion evaporated from the young man's expression. He was not embarrassed by the admission, though he probably would have preferred to have kept it between himself and his girlfriend. That one touch on his cheek told him all he needed to know. The coolness of her fingers, the waft of stale rot; this was and was not Mikaela Banes.

He caught her retreating fingers in his hand, kissing them gently. He met her eyes, able to see the spark of amber light hiding behind the wet, dark stare of the woman. "It's time to let her go now, Fallen. I want my girlfriend back."

For extra incentive, he sent a shock up her fingers that made her cry out. It didn't hurt her, but it certainly hurt the thing clinging to her. Seemingly solid leather burst into sudden frenetic activity, billowing up and outwards like a black cloud filled with laughter and lightning. Humans cried out, scrambling away. Cybertronians swore vile, angry words as they leapt into action.

"Now _that,_" Psi exclaimed, even as guns and blasters and lasers were all aimed his way. "_That's_ how you make an entrance!"


	39. To Meet the King in Yellow

I will admit to struggling ferociously with this chapter. It was a fight every step of the way, writing one paragraph, thinking of something new, deleting said paragraph, and then typing up something completely different. Some moments were written on the fly, and others have been in the making for _years_. There is a little bit of everything in here – some humour, some love, some Psi, some horror, some heartache, and a bucket load of foreshadowing. Half the fun is reading between the lines. =P

And because a key point to this chapter is so heavily influenced by one of my loves, I would like to thank H.P Lovecraft and his fellow writers for creating the _Cthulhu Mythos_. Without such a beautiful base of classic horror and cosmic gods, the would be a poorer place and this story would probably be _a lot_ different for the story you know today. Still awesome, but different. You know how it is. =P

You know what else would have made this story a very different thing than it is today? You guys. The readers and the reviewers. You have helped make this journey possible, every joy and sorrow, life and death. Your reviews and engagement in this story has helped shape what directions the characters go, what scenes are shown, and even if a character will live or die. Your enthusiasm and insight are invaluable tools to help make the War Eternal series what it is. So, from the bottom of my heart, I must thank **Starscream II, CNightJoy, Faecat, Dazja, Bluebird Soaring, TransformersLover95, Flameshield, JenEvan, Shadir, femme4jack, Phoenix51, Haag, Gamemice, star's dreams, renegadewriter8**, and **Nikkie2010 **for all of your kindness, support, and inspiration. Thank you for helping to make this series what it is.

And, of course, shout out to **Starscream II,** who kindly lent her time to reading the first half of this chapter and helping me through a brain block. *hugs*

**May We Never Let Go  
To Meet the King in Yellow**

"Oh, look at all of you! Really! This is _wonderful!_" Psi crowed, puffing and churning larger and larger in the air until he was a massive gaseous cloud on par with the Cybertronians. His eyes were lightning and his gaping black mouth filled with flames. He was monstrous in his delight. "To think I have missed you! Have you missed me, my darlings?"

Plasma roared overhead like a glowing beast straight out of hell; the Cybertronians' answer to whether or not they had missed him.

Psi released a piercing scream that would have made any classic horror movie diva jealous. The monstrous manifestation suddenly contracted into a shape no bigger than a bowling ball and zipped behind Mikaela's back for cover. He stayed there, gibbering and shivering, weak for energy and suddenly remembering how deep in dire straights he was.

Mikaela shrieked and attempted to jump away from the greasy, slimy thing trying to latch on to her. It was too late for her, as the Fallen already had a foothold inside her. He adhered like a barnacle, nearly choking her with his panicked stranglehold.

"I told you **No!**" Sam barked, this time jerking Mikaela to him from around her waist and driving the demon out with a charged kiss. The resulting flash of blue left Mikaela's lips burned, though Psi was certainly worse off. Forced out of his hiding place, he shrunk even smaller until he blinked out regular sight.

"Is he...gone?" Miles asked warily, accepting the hand offered to him to help him up from the ground where he'd fallen.

"He's not gone," Sunstreaker warned around a nasty snarl. His armour, still a shiny shade of obsidian for Mikaela's funeral, bristled angrily.

"I can hear him laughing," Elita admitted shakily, panic flickering across her expression. There was no lifetime long enough for her to forget what had happened to her while prisoner in Shockwave's captivity. The Fallen's hand in her insanity was a scar that would not be healed so easily.

In the mess of the moment, a dozen guns locked on to Psi's last known location – which, unfortunately, happened to be directly where Mikaela was standing.

Miko screamed something violent in her native language, throwing Sari behind her. She drew two guns from the cover of her open leather jacket, fearlessly pointing them at gigantic robots who happened to have much larger guns. She did not shoot, her arms shaking ever so slightly. The twitch of her trigger finger broadcasted loud and clear that she was willing to take any reason to start wasting bullets.

Sari scrambled to her hands and knees, throwing her mussed hair from her face. The whites of her eyes looked as bright as headlights, shining with a jumble of fear and confusion. Miraculously, she was the first sentient being to form the first reasonable question in what was a ridiculously bizarre situation. She turned to her bodyguard and long term confidante and demanded: _"Where the hell did you get those guns!?" _

Miko's lips pulled back in a sneer, never taking her eyes off the burning plasma barrels pointed right back her. "Remember that breakthrough in non-metallic nano-based super material we had a few months back? It's a wonder what a little bribery in the lab can do."

"That is completely against company policy!" Sari shrieked hysterically.

"Yeah? Fire me _after_ I save your brown ass with the guns I got through airport security!" To the Cybertronians, Miko narrowed her gaze and braced her body as if she actually stood a chance in a physical fight with one of them. "And if you're wondering, these pretty little guns here are packing magnesium core graphene bullets. These _can_ hurt you, and I _will_ use them. So drop the guns or I'll drop you."

"You don't know what you're messing with, little girl," Ironhide rumbled darkly, easily looking like the biggest threat in the crowd with his devilishly horned head and massive cannons. The glow of heated plasma churning in the barrels could have been hellfire itself.

"Maybe not, but I sure as hell know I don't like giant guns being pointed at me."

Mikaela closed her eyes tight, squeezing the hand that still held hers. She took a ragged breath that burned her mouth and throat like she had been running a marathon. She smelled dirt and burning ozone, and the musky stench of the thing cowering invisibly behind her. He left a lingering feeling of cold and unease in the air. She was tired. _So tired._

When her eyes opened again, Sam was watching her. Like a solid anchor in the midst of a storm, he appeared unaffected by the yelling or the guns or the fact that an evil alien manifestation of chaos was hiding in her shadow. Everything was blowing right by him like it did not matter. Every drop of his attention was focused on the woman in his sights, drinking in every detail of her from the expensive silk blouse to the scruffy jeans that suspiciously looked like an old pair he used to own.

Mikaela stared back, taking comfort in his calm, alien stare.

"I didn't think I would ever see you again. I saw you, with Nemesis... and then you weren't there... And now you're here." His eyes dipped briefly to her stung lips like he wanted to kiss her again. "You... I... There aren't any words."

Her lips barely twitched up in a wavering smile. "This isn't the Welcome Home I was expecting. Less guns would be nice? I don't know... I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting."

"Do you want them to stop?" he asked lightly, canting his head ever so slightly to the left.

"Yes, please," Mikaela all but begged, drawing him forward for a kiss on the lips that tasted like lightning and stardust. She received a shock, though not deliberately. A spark of electricity that zinged through her blood. She grinned and kissed him a little more desperately.

_Please _had never been said more sweetly to him. For a brief moment, Sam closed his eyes and absorbed the kiss. He felt her body against his, her skin touching his skin, and he felt her life force radiating beautifully throughout his senses. Her heartbeat and the powerful flow of her blood, the electricity that fired between her neurons, and power in her moving muscles. A part of him felt her soul in that kiss. In the same strange way that he was able to feel the Cybertronians in the back of his mind, Sam felt Mikaela in that brief fleeting moment – the shining light of her soul, the strength of her love, the tarnish of hurt and growing up hard, and the clinging hope that everything was going to be okay.

They leaned away, and Sam smiled. "Okay, I'll make them stop."

Without releasing her hand, he raised his free hand and moved it through the air in the same manner he might wipe a slate clean. Unlike previous displays of the Allspark's power, there was no flash or spark of blue light. No massive deluge of power destroying everything in its path. This was controlled and purposeful. As little as the gesture was, it had a stunning impact on the beings it had been aimed for. Gears and cogs and thousands of other moving metal parts whirred with minds of their own as control was briefly usurped from the Cybertronians, their transformed limbs returning to neutral states. Guns that were separate from themselves powered down and dropped to the earth. Energon blades depowered. Claws were sheathed, arms dropping like lead weights to their sides. Now immobilized, it was only their optics that flared in shock and outrage.

Sam turned his sights on the woman who still brandished her weapons. "Those are dangerous things you have there. I would appreciate it if you didn't threaten my friends with them," he said, laying a hand to the top of one of the guns. It disintegrated beneath his touch.

Miko flung away from him in horror. She looked as if she would draw her second gun on him, but stopped sort when Sari's hand shackled her wrist. The young heiress gripped her so hard that her manicured nails cut through the skin and made her bleed.

"Just do as he says," Sari hissed, eyeing Ambassador Witwicky with acidic suspicion. "We have no idea what the hell we are dealing with here."

"But-!"

"_Do. It."_

"_Kuso."_ Miko stuffed her remaining weapon back into its hidden holster, though kept her employer firmly behind the shield of her body.

Sam watched her with with a small smile, amused at the antics of someone so small. Not small physically, for she was a tall woman who appeared quite capable of taking care of herself. In other ways, she was very small. It was strange to realize such a truth. Sam was now much bigger than everything around him... or, at least, the power inside him was much bigger, stretching from one side of the galaxy to the other.

He reached for her, feeling a light breeze blow through him as if he were made of dry wheat stalks instead of flesh and blood. Brittle, thin, easily blown away. Then he remembered that it wasn't fair to compare himself to other humans. He wasn't really human anymore.

"_Sam," _Mikaela breathed, tugging gently on his hand.

"Right, sorry," Sam murmured, dropping his free hand to his side. "You, Fallen, come out. And no games."

The air stirred, giving way to a dark smudge and the spark of glowing jewels.

"No games? That is hardly fair!" the spectre whined like nails down a chalkboard, his voice still reedy and thin with a tinny echo. "That is like telling the universe to not move, telling gods they cannot not exist! What a cruel little beastie to tell me such things!"

"You are going to behave or else," Sam warned darkly, brooking no argument.

"Oh fine. _Fine_. I'll sing and dance to your tune, since you play such pretty music. Your instrument is so loud, after all," lamented the Fallen, coalescing into something solid and stable. Staying within the size range of the humans, which was infinitely safer than giving the Cybertronians more to shoot at, he unfurled into a basic shape whose details firmed into place in slow succession. The end result caused Mikaela to rear back with her hackles up, hissing through bared teeth.

"You bastard," she snarled.

Sam surveyed the spectre from head to toes, turning a sickly shade of corpse grey that had nothing to do with dying and had everything to do with the sudden urge to vomit all over his feet.

Psi's expression brightened considerably, bouncing on the balls of the feet he now possessed. "I knew you would like it!"

"Change! Now!" Mikaela cried. She could still feel rancid breath against her lips from that first meeting. Coldness and dread turned her blood to sludge in her veins.

"Why? This is the best I have felt in days!" Th Fallen exclaimed merrily. "No – this is the best I have felt in _eons!_ It's been too long since I've been so near the Allspark." Greyed hands tipped with blackened fingers ran up and down a bare grey torso scored to the bone with jagged, pulsing red gouges. Blackened lips were swiped by a pronged tongue too long for the mouth that held it. A smile full of malevolence and pointy teeth appeared.

"So you're The Fallen," Sam observed quietly, swallowing back his bile with some effort.

"Yes, I am indeed The Fallen One," Psi purred, sweeping an impressive, if not overly theatrical, bow. "I am The Beast, the Eyes in the Darkness, the Whispering Madness. I am Entropy, and I am Chaos. I am No One."

"No One, huh?" Sam breathed, frowning cautiously. Once the immediate surprise wore off, he found the absolute shock value of seeing the evil Mirror-verse version of himself wasn't so bad. After having his girlfriend come back from the dead, he had met his shock quota for the day. Nothing else could possibly surprise him anymore, not even an evil naked version of himself. "I don't think we've ever been formerly introduced. Strange, isn't it? You are responsible for so much, but I think this is the first time we've ever been face-to-face."

"Sam, be careful," Optimus warned darkly. "We don't know what his game is."

Blue eyes flicked in the Prime's direction with a bare nod. "I am being careful."

"Be as careful as you like, he can still get to you," Sideswipe warned. "It's what he does. If you can see him, if you can hear him, he can hurt you."

Sam jerked a hard nod. He had been fighting the same enemy as the rest of them for the past seven years. Just because this was the first time he was truly seeing The Fallen did not mean he suddenly forgot what the Bringer of Chaos was all about.

Psi blinked his big amber eyes, canting his head like a dog listening to a high-pitched sound. He moved in a manner that left behind smokey afterimages in the air, raising a single hand so that it hovered in front of Sam's face. He smelled musty, rotten and abandoned. It made Sam think of dark, empty attics and dank caves full of slime.

"Look at you, so paper thin," The Fallen commented airily. "There is fire inside of you, and the smoke billows, and I can feel it as I felt the power in the Old Times. I remember the darkness, and I remember the first stars to shine, and I remember the Allspark whose light shone brighter than all the stars to ever live."

Breath stuttered in Sam's chest, burning hot and smokey like real flame licking inside of him. He tasted ashes and power on his tongue.

There was madness in those amber eyes. A grin stretched so wide that it touched from ear to ear like the Cheshire cat. "I see you now. Did you know that? I can **See** you. What has become of that precious little veil that once shielded you from my gaze? Why, you have burned it away with that terrible power inside you! I see you. Oh, I See You. And the gods of this world can look at you and see right through you. You are a ship adrift in seas that have grown rough as they toss you through powerful tides. You hold on so desperately to the anchor of this world while a spark burns away the rope that binds you. If a wind comes, will you blow away? I think you will. Beware of the Big Bad Wolf who hides beneath the skin of a grinning sheep. So weak are your ties to this world, I might almost reach out and pluck you from the sky like stars..."

"And now I can see why we have never been formerly introduced," Sam said flatly. His hand was still clenched tightly in Mikaela's, cinching tighter until his knuckles bleached white. "Has he been like this the whole time he's been with you?"

Mikaela grimaced, feeling her stomach churn. "Essentially, yes. Well... I think he was trying harder to make sense while he was haunting me. Now I don't understand anything he's saying."

"Our ghost," Miko suddenly intoned breathlessly as puzzle pieces suddenly slammed together in her head.

"What?" Sari squeaked.

Miko brandished a pointed finger much like she would point a gun, aiming her violently violet nail at Mikaela's heart. "You've been talking to _him_ all this time. Not an actual ghost. When you said no one-."

"I meant _No One_. Yes. Him. I'm sorry. I couldn't tell you," Mikaela said with a shake of her head. It took a deep breath to steady her voice. "It was easier just to let you think I was crazy. There are so many things going on right now, there was no way you would believe me if I told you the truth."

"What is he?" Miko asked, curling her lip in a sneer.

Mikaela arched a shoulder. She had never been too clear on exactly what The Fallen was supposed to be, so she said, "Would you believe he's some sort of ancient evil alien god thing?"

"This is _insane_," Sari breathed, her eyes wide as her fingernails gouged holes through Miko's jacket. "This is certifiably insane."

"It _is_ insane, isn't it?" Psi trilled merrily, partially hugging himself in glee. "How impossible to think that there are things in this universe that do not exist because you do not believe in them!"

"_Shut up, would you_?" Mikaela snapped, leaning into Sam's shoulder, never daring to take her eyes off of No One's spectral manifestation. She turned carefully, brushing her lips to the shell of Sam's ear. "I know you've heard it all before, Sam, but seriously... this guy is completely whacked out."

In that moment, Psi reached up and placed his hands on either side of his head, slowly twisting it around and around like a corkscrew. That disturbing grin stayed as wide as a canyon. He appeared to be doing it simply because he could.

"Why is he with you? Why bring him here?" Sam wondered, pulling her close so that her warm body pressed into his side. "What the hell is going on, Mickey?"

There was silence for several seconds. Mikaela's jaw worked back and forth before she let reluctant words fall from between her lips. "He is the one who saved my life."

"Saved you?" She felt Sam's body clench tightly. His hand was so hot around hers, like trying to hold onto pure lightning.

"It shocked me, too. _Believe me_," Mikaela admitted honestly. "He dove in front of Hound's plasma blast to protect me. The short version of everything is that he wanted me to bring him here..." Her scowl deepened. "He wants to help us kill Nemesis."

"Is that so?" Sam replied, arching a single brow. "That's... convenient."

"Lies!" Sunstreaker snarled suddenly, bristling against the otherworldly force that held him immobile. "Whatever that beast has told you, it's all lies! He wouldn't know the truth even if a blade of it cut his head off!"

Psi grinned so that a jagged chasm opened up from ear to ear revealing metal teeth and gears. "Oh my, look at the time. It is certainly growing late in the day. Nearly time for the sun to set, don't you think? The sky must always go dark before the monsters can come out and play."

"You shut your trap!" Sideswipe bellowed. "I swear to Primus, if I ever get my hands on you I'm gonna-."

"Quiet," Sam ordered. Silence followed with ominous finality.

Psi's attention wandered back to the Allspark vessel, detailing him with lunatic eyes. "All the walls have crumbled down and Humpty Dumpty lies bleeding on the ground, a cracked open egg that No One can put back together. Your insides are all falling out. I think they taste like sweet candy. _What's eating you?_ asks the chrysalis to the egg. The egg says nothing. It's an egg. But then it cracks open and treasure falls out."

"Does anybody understand what the hell is coming out of Evil Freak's mouth?" Miko exclaimed.

"I think I've heard enough for now," Sam sighed tiredly. The greyness of his skin was more pronounced, as was the dead sunkeness in his eyes. "You... Fallen – No One. You're only going to cause trouble until everyone calms down and can talk semi-rationally. Go away."

Just like that, Psi was gone. The only thing left was the look of shock on the afterimage of his face. Soon enough, even that was gone too.

Mikaela shivered as warm air suddenly rushed in to fill the absent space. Her fingers trembled as they curled into the sleeve of Sam's blazer. "Where did you send him?"

"I don't know. Away, I guess," Sam shrugged nonchalantly, staring at some random spot. He seemed a little unfocused.

"You're getting good at using the Allspark's power."

"I'm not fighting it anymore. Not fighting it makes it easier." He did not mention that not fighting the Allspark did not make it hurt less. In a way, even though his conscience was much lighter, it hurt a lot more to accept the impossible thing burning like an inferno inside him.

Mikaela stared at his profile, feeling her heart clench at the sight of him. After seven long years of fighting the changes happening to him, the conflict in his eyes was gone. "Things have changed since I died, huh?"

"A lot can happen in a week."

She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too." He shook his head with a wry laugh. "I can't believe you're really here."

Her smile was watery as she wrapped her arms tight around his neck. His arms curved around her back and hauled her in for a tight hug. They kissed again, though had to break apart before they accidentally drown in the tears running freely down Mikaela's cheeks. She wiped at her eyes, laughing and crying, and saw that Sam's tears were not what she expected. He wiped away the excess energon, hoping she would not notice. She raised her hand to the side of his head, careful of the wet trails on his cheeks. He flinched at first, and then leaned into the coolness of her palm – a balmy coolness compared to the heat of his skin. A tear dripped to the lapel of his blazer, burning through the fabric.

"You know, I can't even bring myself to be surprised anymore," she murmured, acknowledging the tear and choosing to kiss him on the tip of his nose anyways.

"You're one surprise I don't mind," Sam replied hoarsely, squeezing her as tightly as he could. All eyes were on them, reminding him that it was not just him who was happy to see Mikaela come back from the dead. With great reluctance, he brought Mikaela back to her feet and eased away. "I think there are other people who want to say hello. We'll talk about everything else later."

Mikaela grinned, turning to the gathering of people who had politely come to her funeral. There at the front, standing a couple of inches above the crowd, was a wonderfully familiar rough face with the darkest eyes ever set into a human skull. Tears ran down from the corners of those ebony black eyes, smearing makeup and making the roadmap of lines in her skin stand out.

"C'mere, kid," Chase called, opening her arms.

"Chase!" Mikaela cried joyously, leaping across the space that separated her from her aunt. She did not think her feet even touched the ground. One moment, she was dashing for her aunt, and the next she was being hauled up into a hug as if she were five years old again. Chase held her high and swung her around, wrapping her up in a bear hug that made her ribs rub together.

"Look at you, kid. Just fucking look at you!" Chase exclaimed, laughing and crying freely at the same time. Her large, rough hands came up to hold the sides of Mikaela's head, tangling in her hair and squeezing her skull. "You're a mess! A goddamn mess! But you never looked better!" She pasted sloppy kisses along Mikaela's cheeks, leaving wet trails behind of saliva and tears.

"I missed you, too!" Mikaela exclaimed, wrapping her arms and legs around her aunt and hugging her with all the strength in her body. She breathed in deep and was comforted by the usual smells of alcohol and human. She was surprised by the smells of perfumes and hairsprays and makeup. Her hands buried their way into Chase's hair and tugged on the ragged handfuls. "You cut your hair! And you dressed up for my funeral! There's too much perfume on you! You have no idea how much I missed you! I didn't think I could ever miss you that much!"

They were laughing and spinning around until a much bigger form barrelled into them, strong enough to sweep them both off their feet. They teetered unsteadily before toppling to the ground, clasped together between a set of arms of inhuman strength.

Mikaela stopped laughing. She wiped her tears away. The brown arms stretched around her body were terribly familiar. They shook in time to the silent sobs of the gentle giant who clung to both Banes women.

"Hound," she breathed.

He looked up at her with wide brown eyes, glassy and watery with a surprise fall of simulated tears. His lower lip trembled. She watched in fascination as he opened his mouth, seeming to draw in a mouthful of air like fish out of water, and then clamp his lips and swallow hard. His Adam's apple bobbed. A shaking hand cupped her cheek, the pad of his thumb as gentle as the brush of a butterfly's wing against her skin.

A croaking noise came from him.

"It's okay," Mikaela assured, leaning down to kiss the hologram of the alien who had adopted her as his own daughter. His cheek was warm like human skin, smelling of soap and faintly of new cars. "I'm okay, Hound. I'm here. I told you everything was going to be okay. Remember? Everything is okay now."

The hand on her cheek steadied, drawing her down. Mikaela let herself be tucked into an encompassing embrace. She was folded up like a small child and brought down so that her head rested beneath Hound's chin. He held her tight, kissing the crown of her head. He was still the best hugger in the world, even as he rocked her back and forth.

He mumbled something softly.

Mikaela leaned away, peering up into glassy brown eyes. "What was that?"

"I didn't kill you," he breathed, and then looked over Mikaela's head to the second Banes woman still trapped in the vice grip of his arms. "I didn't kill her."

"No, you didn't. You didn't, Hound," Chase agreed warmly, levering up on her knees to peer over Mikaela's head. There was light shining in the hologram's eyes. A stunned smile wavering weakly on his lips, hovering between elation and tears. There was hope again, if even only a little bit. It was the new found hope in Hound's eyes that inspired Chase's next move, grasping Hound's chin in a strong hand and tipping his head up to capture his lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

Mikaela wriggled out from between them, stunned and breathless. "Okay, _urgh_, stop that."

Chase cast her a sidelong glance, peeling her grinning mouth away from Hound's. "Don't you have other people who are happy you're not dead? Go bother them."

"She's not dead," Hound sighed, laying his head to Chase's shoulder.

Mikaela's smile wavered, her heart aching. She saw the brokenness that filled the once lively bot. It was going to take a while before Hound was back to himself. She took a step back, and then another. "Yeah, it's a big funeral. Lots of people to see. You -um, take care of him."

Chase gave a jerk of her head to shoo her niece off, keeping a comforting hand around Hound's shoulders while he leaned heavily into her body. He looked ready to sleep for a thousand years.

Sam welcomed Mikaela back into his arms, unable to get enough of her.

"How... how did Hound get back here?" she murmured into his ear.

Tension lit his body, making his arms clench around her. "Bumblebee traded his life." He held her even tighter when she gasped and tried to jerk away. "Bee did what he thought was best. I don't like it either... I _hate_ it, actually, but Bumblebee has always been too noble for his own good. Nemesis wanted him, so he traded his life for Hound's and to give us time. I would have stopped him, but I only woke up two nights ago."

Her fists clenched into his shirt, pinching his skin.

"I told you a lot can change in a week," he sighed.

"Damn it," she cursed. "Just... damn it. He shouldn't have done that."

"We're going to get him back. There's no way we're going to leave Bee stranded with Nemesis. If The Fallen is actually willing to help us, then maybe we have a shot..."

"But if not?"

"Then I don't know." Sam offered a half-smile and a hapless shrug. He turned Mikaela loose so that she could be welcomed into the waiting arms of the crowd. She disappeared amongst them, swallowed by their hugs and kisses. Her lips were smiling, though her eyes stayed haunted. He turned away from the scene, eyeing the unmoved statues still held immobile by his command.

He had forgotten about them.

"You can move now," he said, watching as a collective breath of air was drawn and shoulders sagged with the release of tension. Their paint shifted, regaining their usual colours.

"I didn't know you could do that, Sam," Wheeljack commented, rotating his shoulders. He looked nervous, as did several others. As much as they accepted the idea of the Allspark being inside of him, it seemed that they were not so comfortable in discovering the power he held over them as the Allspark.

"I didn't know I could do it either. I just wanted something to happen, so it happened," replied the human. "It was weird."

Ratchet cast him a narrowed look, a scowl marring his features. "You certainly aren't afraid to use the Allspark's powers anymore. Are you sure _you're_ alright, Sam?"

"I just got Mikaela back. Why wouldn't I be alright?" Sam hedged with a quick shrug, looking away.

Ratchet grumbled, pursing his mouthplates. If he had further comments, he did not voice them.

Elita One trembled where she stood, and then collapsed to her knees with her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. The confinement had been too much. There had been no cage, but to be trapped within her own frame was just as terrible, just as terrifying. She shook like a leaf, garnering many worried glances from the humans who still congregated around Mikaela. Optimus swooped in only a moment later, taking his sparkmate into his arms and bringing her close.

Beyond the human range of hearing, he shushed her and murmured sweet comforts in hopes of calming the raging terror that spiked through their bond. It was but a small boon that she allowed him to touch her. Only moments ago, Elita One had been so strong, so proud, come so far from the hollowed out haunted creature that had escaped from Shockwave's clutches. Now thanks to a power that was supposed to be wielded in their favour, a power that could save them, she was reduced to that scared little heap of scrap metal again.

Sam could hear the sweet nothings the Prime murmured. He felt the heat of the accusing glares that lasered through his core. Guilt churned deeply in the pit of his stomach. So it seemed giving into the Allspark wasn't such a good idea after all.

Overhead, a cloud passed in front of the sun.

"Isn't this a heartwarming scene? And to think, I came here to offer my condolences."

From the darkened tear that appeared midair stepped a familiar form, dark through and through from the shadowed paint straight down to the oozing, festering black spark trapped deep within its frame. Feet touched down in the dirt, inspiring bruises in the earth the colour of rot. Power radiated from him like heat waves in the air, feeling not as hot or cold but of crawling, pinching, slimy things that skittered and wriggled and clung in the dark, slicking and sliding through the crevices of armour and squirming into the open ears, eyes, noses, and mouths of watching humans. This was power not native to their universe, but festered from a Dead place where light had never shone.

Optics the colour of freshly congealed blood moved slowly over the assembled crowd, finally coming to rest on the semi-obscured form of Mikaela as she pressed back into the forest of arms and bodies attempting to shield her. Those blood red optics narrowed.

"Nemesis," Ironhide rumbled like dark thunder.

A smile devoid of any warmth curved along the line of the Dark Prime's mouthplates. There was rage hidden behind the shine of his optics, leashed in the rigid set of his frame. "Clearly my condolences are no longer needed."

"Shit, who is this clown?" Miko hissed, pressing her employer back into the crowd of people. Her gun was out again, aimed for Nemesis's spark.

Mikaela reached out with a single hand to grip Miko's sleeve, trying to drag the gun down before she got herself killed. "He's the one I told you about. The one who almost killed me. So if you were smart, you'd stop trying to shoot everything that moves!"

"He- he's the one?" Sari choked a tad too loudly.

"_Shhhhh,"_ Miles hissed, pressing a hand down on the top of the heiress's head to shrink her into the crowd. "Just keep your head down. Keep quiet. This is bad news."

The humans around them shifted uneasily, not yet sure what to do. The majority of them had not been there to see what Nemesis had done to Mikaela through Hound. Most of them had not ever seen Nemesis Prime in his full glory, now finding themselves disturbed and disarmed by his frightening resemblance to Optimus Prime. Agent Simmons, blessed by his paranoia, grasped at a small weapon concealed within the folds of his sombre jacket. He was among the few to have been armed for the occasion, most others only dressed for a funeral. They were exposed, vulnerable. Most were civilian agents of the EDC or less, lacking in any form of defensive training or knowledge of warfare. Tiny little Annabelle was buried into the backs of her mother's legs, shivering from a coldness inside her that she did not understand. The rivers of her tears felt like ice running down her cheeks.

Miko's face contorted into an ugly mask, the look someone wore when they were between horror and rage. She kept Nemesis firmly in her crosshairs. She was not overly fond of guns compared to other methods, but her trigger finger itched desperately. "I thought you said he was a terrorist!"

"He_ is _a terrorist_,_" Mikaela hissed. "Just heavy on the terror."

"You flatter me, Mikaela. Really. I wish I had equal compliments to you, but you will find that there are few words for someone who is, understandably, supposed to be ashes in the wind," Nemesis drawled menacingly.

"Go fuck yourself," Mikaela spat. "You don't scare me anymore."

"Scare you? My dear, terror is but one of the many talents I have. I could show you a thousand others." The corners of his deceptively handsome mouthplates curved wider as his gaze travelled through the collected organics until it landed on the one inorganic thing among them. "Isn't that right, Hound? I showed you many of my tricks. We learned a lot together."

True fear reflected in Hound's dark eyes. Fear that scored him hollow inside and left a gaping cold wound filled with festering memories that paralysed him from the inside out. The ghosts of pain and anguish played across his emotive face. It was incomprehensible fear borne of unspeakable acts committed against his person. The seams of his mouth pried open, gasping a broken noise that sounded too much like someone had reached inside his chest and wrenched out the heart he did not have. The edges of his hologram pixelated, followed by a brief, piercing screech as his hologram shattered.

Chase jolted to catch the falling holo-emitter before it touched the ground. She clenched her fist around it and tucked it to her chest. The look in her eyes was a cross between rage and fear.

"Well, I supposed that is one individual who is not happy to see me," Nemesis commented.

"You are not welcome here, Nemesis," Optimus stated, bring himself to his full powerful height. They were a perfect match, the light Prime and the dark.

"Perhaps it is the fact that I am unwelcome that draws me to this place," Nemesis chuckled, though not a drop of warmth was felt in the mirthless noise.

"It will be that same unwelcome that drives you from here," Optimus returned. "We are not afraid of you. What power you think you have, or what fear you think you can inspire, we will still force you from this place."

There was a pause, during which Nemesis appeared to consider the Prime's words.

"Well, alright, we can have it your way," he eventually said, amusement lighting his gaze. "Come, Prime, try to force me to leave. We shall see who comes out on top." A hand was extended, curving it up to beckon to his opponent. His tone suggested a level of nonchalance that broadcasted how unconcerned he was for himself, while his smirk taunted how badly Optimus Prime would lose if he chose to accept the invitation.

Not even Optimus Prime was fool enough to walk into such a trap.

"I can stop you," Sam announced, stepping forward proudly. He powered up until the air danced hot and electric. His shadow burned away from the dirt, light sweeping across his skin like the dancing reflection of light on water, making him appear surreal under the glinting white light of the winter desert sun.

"Can you?" Nemesis wondered, canting his head.

"I'm stronger than you are." His chin tilted high, chest out. His fists clenched tightly, though not tight enough to stop the slight tremble in the bones.

"You are the Allspark," Nemesis shrugged. "But brute strength is not everything." His gaze glinted like sunlight off of pools of blood. "You are still a tool, Sam. You are not meant to wield yourself."

"I've been doing a good job of it so far."

"That simply goes to show how truly little you know about the power inside you," Nemesis _tsked_ lightly, even shaking his head. "If you really were in as great of control of the Allspark as you seem to think you are, you would have attacked me by now. All of you would have attacked by now, secure in the knowledge that you are protected by this little human with a great big destiny sitting on his shoulders. I would dead by now. None of you have made a move, because you know there is no guarantee you will win." He inclined his head to Sam. "You make the Allspark weak."

Electric blue flashed from jewel bright depths of Sam's eyes.

"Think about it. Do you really want to fight me, Sam? If so, I will fight you and you will lose, but you can be content that I did not take your power without a fight," Nemesis said evenly, taking a step forward, kneeling to the dirt. "But... if you knew what I really am, _who_ I really am, you might think better of it."

"Sam, don't listen to him," Mikaela hissed. "He's worse than The Fallen. I don't know what this guy is, but he's connected to some bad shit. Just don't listen to him!"

"Mickey, shut up!" Chase snarled, grabbing the girl by the back of her collar and jerking her back into the crowd. No way was she giving Nemesis a second shot at her family just as she got them all back.

Sam shook his head, not taking his eyes away from the Dark Prime. "Who are you, then? Why would knowing you making me think better about helping you? You nearly killed my girlfriend, and you did worse to Hound. You took Bumblebee away from me."

"Necessary evils to get your attention, though I can admit that I did enjoy my time with them."

"You are not helping your case."

"Then here is something that might interest you. I can save you, Sam," Nemesis said evenly. "You are dying. You know this. You feel it. But what if the burning could be stopped? What if your soul could be saved?"

"That's not possible," Sam spat bitterly.

"Really? And who told you that?"

Sam looked away, reluctant to admit who... what... had told him of his condition.

Nemesis pressed on with his irritating smirk, as if he could read Sam's mind and knew exactly who his informer was. "As I said, the Allspark is only a tool. It was never meant to be sentient, and definitely never meant to be an organic mortal. If someone were to wield you correctly, you could be spared. Where I am from, I am god of unimaginable power. _I_ can wield your power without ending your life. I can stop that burn from spreading inside you. I can bring you to life again."

Temptation shone in Sam's eyes, desperation and a panicked hunger. He might have accepted that he was now the Allspark, he knew he was going to die, but that did not stop the very human reaction to hope. Even with the thinnest thread of hope to hold on to, he wanted to be human again. That desire nearly burned worse than his slow death creeping up on him.

"That's... a very generous offer," Sam gritted out, his expression collapsing into grief. "I can't accept it, though. Not through you. Not after everything you have done. I'd rather die than let you win. I'll kill you before I let you use the Allspark's power to hurt other people."

"You still cling to this world as if it matters. I can't say that I am not disappointed," Nemesis sighed with a dismissive shake of his head. He pushed to his full height, once again blotting out the sun. "Perhaps a friend of yours can convince you otherwise? He is eager to see you, Sam. He has missed you in the days that he has been with me."

"Bumblebee," Sam croaked on chapped lips.

"Bumblebee. Yes. That _is_ what you call him in this world, isn't it? Where we are from, he is called something _much_ different. Let us not waste anymore time, shall we? I shall bring your Bumblebee to you, and he shall bring you to me." Nemesis stepped aside, using the blade of his hand to cut a swath through the air. A cold wind whistled from the trailing threads of reality, bringing with it a sense of the vast emptiness of the void that stretched unseen behind the comforting illusion of the world they knew.

Were it not for the Allspark's power keeping the darkness at bay, humans would have choked from the sudden vacuum in the air.

Nemesis extended a hand into the dark hole, catching another small hand as it was offered. Yellow armour backed a dark gunmetal grey hand. It was the wrong shade of yellow, though. Dirty in a way that went deeper than physical condition. It was an ugly hand, twisted and perverse in all the ways that it was and was not Bumblebee's hand.

"Come," said Nemesis, drawing the creature into the light. "Come show them your true self."

For the longest half a second in the history of the world, that hand did not move. There was reluctance in the way it was held rigid in the air.

"Let them see the truth," Nemesis coaxed, tightening his fingers around Bumblebee's hand and guiding him into the light of day from whatever dark spot he had been waiting.

Into the light stepped someone who was not Bumblebee.

The effect of the wrong colour yellow armour carried over the rest of the frame, its colour garish and mottled to a degree that it was hard to look upon it without a throbbing sense burgeoning from between the eyes. There was darkness that emanated hollowly from within the black, empty insides that clashed with the brightness of the sickly yellow paint. Bumblebee's frame had shifted in such a way that he was still the same even when all the details looked different in an undefinable way. His horns were sharper now, curved back like real horns. The lines of his frame glinted like blades. The contours of his once-round faceplate had been stretched and contorted into frightening funhouse shapes. Red light shone from optics so cold, they would have only belonged to someone dead inside.

Sam heard the rushing of his blood in his ears, the beat of his heart seeming to vibrate through his ribs. He wanted to call out, to reach for his brother, to draw Bumblebee back into the fold, but for all his power, Sam abruptly felt small and powerless. He looked into those red optics and was struck with the hopelessness that he had somehow failed.

"Shall I leave you all to get reacquainted? I look forward to hearing from you again, Sam. I have a feeling our next meeting will be much different." Nemesis inclined his head politely, turning to leave.

His gentlemanly exit was halted by a sudden screech. Roulette ripped away from her fellow Cybertronians with murder blazing in her optics. Despite screams to stop, she barrelled forward with a charged energon blade aimed straight for the Dark Prime's spark.

"_This is for Carn__é__val, you bastard!" _

Nemesis Prime watched her come, his canted head as much reaction as he gave the charging femme. She was close enough to gouge his blood red optics out when his hand came up, nearly too fast for the eye to see. The air was rent with the wretched sounds of metal screeching. Nemesis's fist disappeared into the gaping, jagged hole taking up too much space in Roulette's chest.

Roulette swayed, rage iced into something new – first shock, followed by realization, and then fear. Her piercing red optics stared down at the fist in her chest. She could feel an impossibly cold hand wrapped around her spark. It hurt. It hurt so much.

"Roulette, no! No!" Sideswipe screamed, held back by the lightning fast reflexes of his brother and Prowl.

"I can feel your fear," Nemesis murmured, meeting Roulette's gaze for the final moments of her life. His fist tightened slowly, savouring the flare of heat, the desperate flutter of panicked energy. He absorbed it, felt the power of it. Almost too quick, the spark burst. Its energy flowed over him with a sweet bouquet of her final horror, pain, and regret. He watched the optics go dark, the frame turn limp. Like flicking a piece of dirt from him, he let her frame fall to the ground. "And now I can't feel you at all."

He took his leave of the scene, trusting the hell he just unleashed could be handled by his brother.

Bumblebee blinked down at the corpse with distant recognition, either able to recognize the bot herself or simply recognize that she was now a corpse. Then he looked down at his own clawed hands, flexing them slowly. Joints popped and cracked one by one.

"I was fragile like that once," he commented in a voice that was no longer the sweet, young voice of Bumblebee. "She was stupid. She shouldn't have attacked. Wasn't she listening? Nemesis could kill anyone here." There was silence as he still stared down at his hands. "I can kill anyone here."

"Bumblebee," Sam called hoarsely, daring a step toward the figure. He felt the twist in the air, the wrongness of it as lightwaves bent away from Bumblebee and the air avoided blowing against him. The warm, fluttering place in the back of Sam's mind reserved for Bumblebee's presence remained dark and cold.

"Sam," Elita called shakily from behind the wall of her sparkmate. "That's not Bumblebee anymore."

A brief stricken scream exploded from Sideswipe just as he managed to rip away from the hands that held him. Blind and stupid and wrapped up in a rage, he barrelled toward the perverse thing that did not look like Bumblebee, did not sound like Bumblebee, but would likely feel good to hurt. He wanted to give as much pain as he felt, and instant gratification of revenge.

Like a switch had been flipped, the eerie calmness of Bumblebee's presence shattered. He darted forward, meeting Sideswipe dead on. They clashed loudly, Sideswipe's Cybertronian curses loudest of all. Bumblebee gave no sign that he recognized the playful, scheming, joking bot of his youth; there was no flash in his dead optics that said he remembered the deadly fighter, the mech who had taught him to weave in and out of battle, wielding blades, and taking cheap shots whenever the opportunity arose.

Optimus's voice bellowed over the din. "Sam! Get the humans into the house! Protect them!"

The demand brooked no argument. Sam turned on his heel, burning a swath of sizzled air as he raised his arms and shouted for people to MOVE! His heart hurt, his lungs burned, the blood in his ears roared, and his mind was dizzy and confused. His mouth moved, shouting words he did not quite understand. It spurred the humans into movement, running for the back door of the dusty house. Annabelle was swept into her father's arms as they ran. Her screams were piercing.

Mikaela reached for Sam as he drew near, taking his hand in hers. The instant their skin touched, her face contorted in sudden pain. Power seared up her palm, burning the flesh. Sam did not notice. He did not let go.

Outside, the fight continued with both opponents lost in their own frenzy.

Sideswipe was cast into the anguish of loss; he did not love Roulette, but now he would never know if he ever could. She had been an opportunity to get away from the same old routine of loneliness that had haunted him for a lifetime. She had been wild and raw, raunchy enough to try anything once. Sideswipe had thrived in taking advantage of her, getting lost in her fire. Now she was gone, with her absence ripping a gaping hole full of bitter 'what ifs' inside of him.

Bumblebee appeared absorbed within himself, awed by the power of his punch as he ripped off part of Sideswipe's battlemask in a single blow. Delighted by the sharpness of his blade as he pierced the red mech's armour, summoning forth a scream on the tide of hot blue energon. He found glee in the powerful, throbbing roar as malevolence concentrated at his fingertips and released in one hot burst. It was both alien to him and familiar. Now that he was no longer trapped within the thin, brittle shell that the Autobots had called Bumblebee... Now that he was free of that mortal thing he had been caged inside... Everything was new to discover.

Or – more accurately – everything was new to _re_discover.

Their hands locked. Sharp feet dug into the ground. Sideswipe had the advantage of weighing more, though Bumblebee's lower centre of gravity kept him firmly dug into the ground. Sideswipe's face twisted and contorted in a myriad of expressions. The armour of his hands was buckling under Bumblebee's augmented strength. The thing that was not Bumblebee watched the play of emotional anguish across his opponent's faceplate.

"I can feel it," he mused calmly, cocking his head.

"Feel what, you sparkless fragger," Sideswipe spat furiously.

Bumblebee chuckled absently. "I forgot what it's like to feel another's pain. There's power in it, seeping into me and making me strong. It's been so long." His fingers tightened, crushing Sideswipe's hands until the mech's knees buckled from the intense pain. "I am so hungry..."

Sideswipe realized what Bumblebee was planning a split second before the yellow bot wrenched to the side, driving Sideswipe's arms down and nearly out of their sockets. A surprised snarl fell from the red mech's mouthplates. Unable to find his footing, Sideswipe had no defence when his frame was jerked up so hard his feet caught air. The grip on his hands changed, wrapping tight around just one arm.

"This will be a good start, won't it? A nice appetizer." The thing that was not Bumblebee mused coldly, meeting Sideswipe's gaze with a hungry stare.

Horror erupted through the red mech, scrambling to brace himself for what was about to happen. Too fast for him to shut his neural circuits down in time, he watched in morbid fascination was Bumblebee's foot came up and rammed him with immeasurable force dead center of his chest. For an instant, he was flying through the air, weightless, free, until he came to the end of his short leash; there was resistance for a moment, a metallic scream as metal wrenched at his shoulder, and then his frame was flying free of his arm.

The air was suddenly full of pieces of him. A macabre firework of blue and grey and red. Droplets of energon appeared frozen in the air, arcing between shoulder and the arm that was no longer attached. Gears, bolts, shards of metal exploded outward with the force. Wires and cables twisted and turned as they spilled out. So many wires and cables, it seemed surreal that that much had once fit inside him. Bumblebee's forearm blade severed the wires in a fury of sparks, cutting away Sideswipe's connection to a limb he had already said goodbye to.

Static screeched from his vocal processor. Noise of other sorts erupted through the air, too numerous and echoing for Sideswipe to pinpoint where they were from. Not from him, he mused. Others were screaming. Cursing. The ground caught him hard, rolling and rolling until there was gold in his vision. Not that perverse shade of ungodly yellow that Bumblebee now wore. There was gold in his vision, glossy and bright. Sunstreaker. There were other colours, too. Green and white for Wheeljack. Silver for Tungsten. Chartreuse and an unsmiling faceplate, one that inspired instant guilt and comfort at the same time.

"Ratchet," Sideswipe croaked.

"Don't talk," ordered the medic, hands flying with self-assured ease to assess the extent of the damage. It was not the worst he had ever seen, especially not on the twins, but it was made worse for the fact that it had been Bumblebee who inflicted the injuries. "You half-bit. You idiot! What were you thinking?"

Sideswipe shuttered his optics, bracing himself against the screaming misery he now found himself in. He knew without looking that the gentle hand on his forehead was Sunstreaker. He was syphoning off as much of the pain as he could; he could do nothing for the physical damages, but pain to the spark was a speciality of theirs, though easing it instead of causing it was foreign. Sideswipe felt his brother's regret that their bond wasn't stronger.

"Amazing," Bumblebee commented, swinging Sideswipe's severed arm idly. He did not appear to feel his injuries, even the shattered optic which now oozed a sludgy black tar down his deformed faceplate. "Twins. I can feed from both of you at the same time – two power sources, but it's only one... spark? Spark. Isn't that what your kind call them?" Meaning, of course, that he was no longer one of their kind. "I like this feeling. If I hurt both of you, it would be twice the fun."

Optimus stepped before his fallen Autobot, shielding Sideswipe from any further abuse. The Prime's optics, normally so unfathomable, were overflowing with a thousand different horrors. What Nemesis had brought before them was somehow Bumblebee, and yet it was not Bumblebee. The spark signature was gone, the frame was mutated, but still... Optimus still saw the tiny bright spark he had held in his hands eons ago, innocent and warm in its first moments of life.

Bumblebee stared back at the Prime blankly, an utter lack of recognition on his faceplate. He might as well have been staring at a complete stranger. Air currents throbbed around him, flickering dark like shadows manifesting in the air. There was no warmth in his presence, no innocence.

"Do you know who I am?" Prime breathed.

Bumblebee canted his head. "You are Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots."

"And you are Bumblebee, scout and beloved member of the Autobots."

Yellow horns glinted in the hollow light. "I still hold Bumblebee's memories, they are my memories now, but Bumblebee is not me. I know who you are, but I hold no love for you."

"What has Nemesis done to you?" Prime lamented sadly.

"Done to me?" Bumblebee repeated with a frown. "Ah, you think he tortured poor little Bumblebee into becoming this? Well, don't worry. He did me a kindness unmatched in all the mortal life I was damned to live in this universe. He made me_ remember_ what I am, where I am from. What you see here is what Bumblebee was supposed to be all along."

"You are Autobot Scout Bumblebee. You are from Cybertron, but you now call Earth your home. That is who you are," Optimus stated powerfully. "Partner and brother to the human Sam Witwicky, family and friend to nearly every Autobot on Earth. You were raised by us, loved by us, brought to life by the effort of the Matrix and my spark-"

"_Brought to life?!"_ Bumblebee suddenly shrieked, sending off a shockwave of power that knocked the Prime back a step. "You think you brought me to life? How dare you! How _dare _you presume your actions were so great and noble! You ripped a hole into my world! You dragged me out, wiped me of all my memories, and caged me in a tiny prison from which I could not escape!"

Optimus's mouthplates parted, though no sound escaped.

Bumblebee continued to rant, growing in power and volume until even loose dirt long the ground trembled. "Did any of you ever wonder why Bumblebee had such affinity for battle? It was not just cleverness that made it so easy for him to assimilate into the most horrific sides of life. Why is it none of you ever saw how he embraced war, fighting, and murder? Were you all just too stupid and blind to see that there was something terribly wrong with a youngling who knew how to lie before he knew how to tell the truth?"

"That is enough, Bumblebee!" Jazz roared furiously.

Bumblebee rounded on the blind saboteur, fire sparking in his one good optic. Literal fire sparked in the shattered one. "You! You are the worst of them all, aren't you? _Jazz!_ The great and powerful Jazz, the one who sees more than everyone else." A sneer dripped from the words like poison. "The one who sees more than he should, but never knows exactly what he's looking at! You saw what I was and you never breathed a word!"

Flashing optics shot to the saboteur, who did not flinch nor back down.

"Obviously your memory is faulty, 'cause Ah didn't see nothing but what was there. Ah saw a youngling who was lost," he gritted out between clenched mouthplates. His frame tensed, fists clenched and feet braced apart, ready for battle. "Bumblebee came ta meh long ago, scared and desperate ta find out who he was. Ah cracked the firewall inside his head ta see what Optimus Prime didn't want seen; Ah saw what the Prime had done ta bring Bumblebee ta life. But that's it. And I never said a word because there was nothing ta say and no one ta say it ta. It wasn't mah secret ta tell."

"No!" Bumblebee howled. "That is not all you saw! You saw me inside Bumblebee's mind! You saw me trapped and helpless, but all you did was raise the firewall again and made it stronger than it was before! You made my cage impenetrable!"

Jazz cut a violent gesture through the air. "All Ah saw was darkness inside that youngling's head, and he didn't need ta know it was there. Ah know what that sort of darkness does ta a bot! Ah did him a favour!"

"It was me in that darkness. _You left me to rot!_" Bumblebee lunged with a roar, aiming for the saboteur's spark.

Blind as he was, Jazz was not blinded by emotion like Sideswipe had been. He was prepared for the attack, spinning on his heel to avoid the lunge and driving his elbow down into Bumblebee's back to send the bot sprawling into the dirt. And then the saboteur was on top of the minibot, brawling it out like animals. Bumblebee had lost his composure, though kept the godlike strength. Jazz lost one of his horns, his headlights smashed out of his chest. In return, Bumblebee's faceplate was gouged by furious claws. One of his doorwings was ripped away with extreme prejudice.

When a clawed, yellow hand came too close to driving up and under Jazz's chestplate, Prowl joined the fray. He was calculated in his attacks, not as hellbent as his lover was on causing their opponent injury. Jazz too easily accepted that this creature was no longer Bumblebee, freeing him from guilt or compromise in battle. Prowl was more discerning, holding the defensive rather than offensive, making sure Jazz remained largely unharmed while the saboteur laid their opponent out.

Both were taken by surprise by the furious blast of hot power that shot them into the air, away from Bumblebee. They landed on their backs, scrambling to find purchase in the dirt. Before they even sat up, a second wave of attackers was already on Bumblebee. Rage flared freely in Sunstreaker's optics as he engaged with the minibot, barely making room for Arcee and Bluestreak as they circled, trying to pin their supposed friend down.

Bumblebee only became stronger as rage mounted against him. Like a thirsty man in the desert, he drank it up, absorbed it into his being, and made it a part of himself. Rage inside him built in a crescendo, hot waves of fury and broiling power. Along with it came joy and freedom. He cried out, the same battle cry that had howled from his mouthplates the day he had fought Sunstreaker in the competition and let the blackened darkness flow through him like molten lava. That had been only a small crack in the cage that had let his true self out. Now the cage was wide open and he had free run of the whole frame.

A second wave of power threw Sunstreaker away, tumbling him until he nearly bowled right through Ratchet's crouched figure. The medic spat a new litany curses, soaked in Sideswipe's energon and now drawn to Sunstreaker's mangled shape before he succumbed to the pulsing wound opened in his neck.

Arcee yelped as her arm was grabbed, wrenching her off her feet to be pressed fully against Bumblebee's frame.

"I remember the things Bumblebee felt," he sneered. "He thought he loved you, as if he were capable of it. What a stupid little creature you are. You waited so long to say anything. So cautious. So weak. Now you lost your chance at ever having anything. You are always losing out on something, aren't you?"

Arcee's expression collapsed in grief, just before the air shattered with her scream. Bumblebee's arms tightened like a vice to crush her. Her lower half went limp. Bluestreak swore, charging in to save the femme. He was tossed away as Arcee's frame came whistling through the air like a projectile, hitting his front and sending him straight through the back porch of the Banes' house and landing in the kitchen.

"Frag!" Ironhide bellowed.

"The humans!" Optimus shouted, launching into battle.

Under the arms of the larger mechs, Prowl and Jazz caught their second wind and rushed back into battle. The four of them combined proved to be some match for the mighty little minibot. Like whirling dervishes, they spun through the air, whipping up dust and debris. Fists and feet flew. Blades and blackened air singed with power.

Optimus managed to pin one of Bumblebee's arms, Ironhide kneeling on the other. Jazz had cut the tension wires in the backs of the bot's legs, stealing his ability to walk or kick. Hobbled, he still fought like a wild thing - arching, writhing, screaming curses vile enough to charbroil paint. Tension lit the air as another surge of power built, readying to be released.

A burst of blue light acted like a needle to a balloon, popping the tension and releasing it as a deflated sigh.

Bumblebee stiffened, gasping for the first time as if in pain.

A human man stood at his feet, looking down the length of Bumblebee's body with sorrow darkening his glowing blue eyes.

"Sam! I told you to protect the humans!" Optimus roared.

"They are protected. They're safe down in Hound's apartments," Sam replied plainly. "This was more important. I had to come."

"_Sam."_ For the first time, there was a flicker of more than just dead emptiness in Bumblebee's optics.

Sam said nothing as he walked down the line of Bumblebee's legs, stepping up on his thigh and continuing to walk down his frame until he crouched on the edge of his brother's chest. Blue sparks licked from the soles of Sam's feet. Beneath him, Bumblebee trembled, paralysed to the spot.

A tiny human hand extended, reaching out, brushing down Bumblebee's twisted, alien faceplate. He sought the connection that had once filled the void between them. His palm came away stained with filth.

"You sacrificed yourself for me," Sam murmured. "Look what's happened to you. I should have been able to protect my own brother better than this. I am so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. There's nothing to be sorry for," Bumblebee rumbled, every word as harsh as the monster now riding inside him. "Everything is so clear now. Nemesis made me see it. I know who my _true_ brother is."

Sam nodded sadly.

"He took me back, Sam," murmured the yellow bot. "All the way back to the beginning."

A harsh breath of air sucked in between Sam's lips. He held it, turning his mouth into one long, thin line. Finally, he let the air out in a hiss.

"Who are you?"

"I am the King in Yellow."

"That's not a name," Sam admonished with a shake of his head. "What do we call you now, if you're not Bumblebee anymore?"

Ruby optics blinked, focusing like lasers. His mouthplates shifted, cracking opening, emitting a searing scream. Instantly, everything living thing in the vicinity recoiled voilently. Hands to their audios or ears, deafened by the ungodly noise. Sam fell from his perch, landing badly on his shoulder and sending off a mild surge of blue light upon impact.

The ground turned black beneath Bumblebee's frame, sinking inward like tar until it swallowed him whole. That was all it took for him to disappear. His scream cut off abruptly, not even an echo in the air in the aftermath.

Bumblebee was gone, and the thing now inside him had returned to Nemesis.


	40. To Dream III

Ah, to be back again in the writer's seat for this story. I do believe I have a pattern going on, three chapters for this story and then three chapters for _Where You and I Collide_ (repeat as necessary). It took me a little bit to get going here, and a bit of last minute bolstering by a friend-read-fan (I'm looking at you, **Starscream II**), but here it is. Chapter 40. You are welcome.

For some readers, the name _Nyarlathotep_ is not new. This is because the character was first featured in literature nearly one hundred years ago, and you might have read about him. Alternately, you might have heard of him because I cannot keep a secret to save my life, and I have a nasty habit of giving away spoilers when I answer reviews. If you are one of _those_ people, I imagine you are also one of the ones who did your research when I dropped the name _The King in Yellow._ You are the ones who will not be surprised in this chapter. Everyone else, you are on your own. Good luck. *****salute*

Props to H.P. Lovecraft and his homies.

And, of course, who could forget the wonderful people who helped make this all possible by being the fantastic people that they are! Thank you so much to **Flameshield, Shadir, CNightJoy, star's dreams, renegadewriter8, Gamemice, femme4jack, Nikkie2010, JenEvan, Haag, Faecat, Ciel, TFLover95, Phoenix51, Lotte-Bubbles, luinrina, Yorozuya, StarscreamII, FORD B, Frenzy5150,** and **Lecidre**! Friends new and old, muses and inspirations, clever readers and thoughtful reviewers, and occasionally free editors - all of you, thank you for your time and your love! I never would have stayed so dedicated to this story if not for your fantastic examples of dedication. =P

**May We Never Let Go  
To Dream III**

Nemesis looked up as the darkness shifted, watching as the floor of the sunken temple darkened and parted. It was a crude means of travel, using the flows of energy through the physical mass of the planet as a conduit - certainly not so advanced as tearing through the curtain of reality, though just as effective. Nemesis did not blame his brother for his plebeian travel. When caged and forgotten within the prison of mortality for so many eons, some things were bound to take time to come back.

A yellow figure appeared in slow succession, laying amidst a spreading pool of black ooze flowing sluggishly from a collection of fresh wounds. As far as mortal forms went, a Cybertronian was not the worst possible cage to be captive in. Even Nemesis had to cede to the advantage of wearing a body of armour, compared to the more traditional forms of flesh and blood. His brother's cage was oddly suiting, considering his common epithet.

The King in Yellow, indeed.

Evidence of the god within reflecting on the mortal shell without?

A low groan rasped dryly in the dark.

"I see your visit went well," commented the Dark Prime.

"As well as could be expected," was the hoarse reply.

"You got their attention. That is all I wanted." Nemesis leaned back in his throne of stone, lacing his elegant dark fingers together. "Our seeds have been sown. A few scarce days of waiting will hardly be any trouble before we reap our rewards."

There was no immediate answer, and Nemesis did not need one.

A yellow hand lifted, scrutinized with a flat red stare devoid of the rage that had been there moments ago, and then dropped back to the ground heavily. "I still feel pain."

"It is temporary," Nemesis assured coolly. "This is all a temporary arrangement for ourselves."

"How temporary?" There was a sigh, and then rasping words that carried on as if Nemesis had not spoken. "I am awake, but I still dream of pain. You have rattled my cage, but you still leave me chained inside."

Nemesis shifted in his seat, a frown settling on his handsome features. "When the Allspark is in our hands and we begin the Expansion, we will be free. Pain will be naught but a memory."

Dull red optics blinked in interest. "Will everything be a memory?"

"Everything already is."

Their deep voices, exchanged in the language of the Dead Ones, boomed ominously through empty catacombs. The words they spoke were older than the first life on Earth, and far darker than the deepest abyss. Heavy sounds that were better felt than heard, resonating in the chest and vibrating in the bones. Their temporary sanctuary trembled in fear deep beneath the sands of the desert. Ghosts of long dead humans cried out in silent agony, unheard and forgotten, praying for escape from the devils that now defiled their resting place. Their afterlife was not a peaceful one.

It was in this place that Nemesis and his newly awakened brother felt most comfortable. The place they hailed from was a dark void, nothing but a cold empty pit of dry bones and mouldering gods with terrible hungers. Life had long since been extinguished – or, more accurately, _devoured_. This dead temple that lay forgotten beneath the sands, dark and desolate, was a beautiful reminder of home, and a template from which they would work to shape the world in its image.

The Dead Universe would spill out into this world as a plague the Earth has never known, and the slumbering Great Old Ones would stir from their dreams and come forth into this world of light and warmth. Blood would soon stain altars, run freely through the streets, and fill the rivers with red. Prayers would turn to screams. The gods would come to be their shepherds, leading their new flocks to the slaughter.

The godling chuckled brokenly at his thoughts, the soft gibber of a mad creature in the dark.

Above them, jagged earthen teeth trembled, dust scattering through the stale air. Higher above, through layers of dirt, rock, and sand, the sun had already bled out across the horizon. Evening arrived on a dark tide. The night would be cold and bitter.

There was silence in the aftermath. Profound silence, as all the graves of the Pharaohs in the desert lie still. From the abyss of the Earth, there came the rolling, grating stone roar of tectonic plates shifting. The weight of sand, dirt, and rock above groaned and stirred like waking beasts with breath of desert air, claws of granite, and blood of gritty soil. Under the Earth, the ringing pressure was immense – a constant, high-pitched scream in between the ears... no, audios, in these metal bodies... a constant, single-tone drone. It was the sound of unwelcome. The impotent rage of a world who could do nothing about its intruders.

Beyond the overwhelming presence of the Earth itself, the two trapped gods felt the smothering, suffocating presence of their fellow dark gods lingering in the unseen. Deep like a black ocean groaning under its own weight, the heavy air shivering like a discordant violin chord; they prowled in the obtrusive dark, there but not. Their whispered half-formed words were crude, ancient – the resonating bleeding of a broken sub-woofer making bones grind together with its noise.

Imagination could not give form to the dark spectres, nor could nightmares ever paint the portrait of what reality had birthed and raised. They were impossible giants, leviathans in the dark with their gaping mouths hungry to swallow worlds; tentacles and claws and grasping, grabbing, gnarled fingers. They were scaled and they were skinless, twitching exposed muscled and rotted, foetid corpses composed of writing maggots. Oozing, festering, boiling, and decaying. Their breath spawned black miasma, and from their tongues dripped plagues. Their presence birthed darkness in the hearts and minds of mortals; their words blackened souls, making them wither and die. A feast for foetid gods.

Where they touched, no life would ever take root, no goodness would touch, no light would shine.

Though the Expansion had yet to begin, the things of the Dead Universe still leaked through. They came at Nemesis's invitation, a promise of power and the chance to devour. Impatience rode their senses like white-hot pricks; existence in the world of life was always temporary for their kind. Without ties to the world, without a mortal coil to anchor them, they paced upon pins and needles. For now, they were as insubstantial as dark winds, biding their time until the storm came, hoping to conserve energy until such a time when the Allspark ripped apart the bindings of the universe and allowed their world to bleed unchecked.

After all their plans, all their scheming, finally it was all going to come to fruition. All thanks to a stupid god and his even more stupid little servant, thinking to harness power they knew nothing about.

Metal screeched against rock as Nemesis Prime leaned forward, his sleek, dark form glittering like obsidian in the pitch.

"How different you look," the yellow-armoured god observed shrewdly.

Nemesis looked down at himself impassively. "It is an adequate form."

Through the dank shade, a glimpse of Nemesis's true self showed through; that of a dread beast, weaved together by ligaments and tendons, too many eyes and gasping mouths covering the surface, claws and gnarled fingers, puss and slime and festering disease. Oozing, sucking, slime and puss festering from a form impossible to countenance. The Crawling Chaos, a fitting name for a beast who invited madness when looked upon. A terrible shape for a terrible god whose ambitions were as black as the empty pit where goodness has never existed.

The King in Yellow briefly wondered what was revealed of himself when the other gods looked upon him.

It had been so long, he did not recall what he looked like.

"The Allspark will be ours soon," Nemesis announced.

"It is called 'Sam' now."

The admittance brought a brief bout of humour from the Dark Prime. "No matter. After that little show you so brilliantly put on, he will not be able to stay away for long."

"His love for Bumblebee draws him here. He will not come in peace, nor will he go down without a fight."

A graceful dark hand superimposed with the images of tentacles and obsidian knives waved through the dark, dismissing the concerns.

"You have done your part. Worry no more, brother. You are still weak," Nemesis hushed, rising to his feet. His attention was suddenly diverted, rising to the dark, vaulted cavern soaring above. His red optics glinted like hot coals. "Rest for now, recover, and let this become another memory."

"I will do that."

"I will be gone for a time." A dark optic ridge arched vaguely. "Do you need help from the floor, Hastur?"

"No, Nyarlathotep. I think I will stay here for a while." The red glow of his gaze dashed out as he closed his optics, shutting out the world around him for a time.

* * *

"Hey! Hey! Over here!" Blaster shrieked, waving from atop the truck bed he stood on. At his call, the convoy of oncoming vehicles subtly changed direction toward him, the Cybertronians heading the humans. Calls had already been sent ahead, disjointed reports of what happened. It was too jumbled to make sense of yet, but it was enough for Blaster to know he wanted to be present when everyone got in.

Mirage glanced down when the microbot hopped down from the back of the truck he had commandeered. "Why can nothing good happen on this planet?"

The red bot looked up at his fellow commander and shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe Earth is bad luck, or maybe _we're_ bad luck. I haven't decided yet."

With a sigh, Mirage gazed down pityingly at the lump of green metal he had propped against his leg. He pet the head leaned up against his thigh, gently touching the dented section where he had administered the butt of his blaster for sweet oblivion.

From the oncoming convoy, a human figure shot up and yelled into the night.

"Hound? _Hound!_"

Before Ironhide had a chance to fully stop, Chase tumbled from the back of the bed, stumbling across the hard pavement. Her rough voice was little more than a bark in the wind above the deep rumble of so many growling engines. With no heed to anyone else, she barrelled forward full tilt toward the unmoving form being held up by his much smaller friend.

"Hound? Oh honey, Hound, what happened?" Her dark eyes shot up accusingly as she ran. "Why isn't he moving? What did you do to him?"

Mirage watched her approach with pained optics. "He woke up suddenly in the barracks down below. It was dark, and the space was too enclosed for him."

Too much like the darkened space where Nemesis had kept him.

"I had to knock him out," said the Master Spy.

Chase skidded to a halt before the pair, puffing air that misted white around her chapped mouth. When she came within arm's reach of Hound, she laid her hand to his leg and pet him gently. The metal was as cold as the night, as cold as her skin was from riding in the open air of Ironhide's truck bed. "Just when you were starting to get better..."

Her eyes were not full of hatred when she glanced up at Mirage. "Did the others tell you what happened?"

"I was contacted by Prowl and have been partially appraised of the situation," Mirage replied with an inclination of his head toward the others. He failed to catch Prowl's optic, busy as the tactician was hovering over Sideswipe, who seethed in a fury where he sat perched on the roof of Wheeljack's alt mode.

"So you know why Hound woke up," Chase murmured.

"Yes."

As soon as Will slowed his car down enough to let out passengers, Mikaela was flying across the pavement.

"Chase! How is he? Is Hound okay?" she exclaimed, pinching Chase's arm in the haste of her desperate grip. "What's wrong with him? Did Nemesis hurt him?"

Mirage surprised them by kneeling, something he had never done before for a human. "It looked to me as if Hound's processor had been overwhelmed while transposed in the emitter. He was shunted back to his frame as a default, but whatever trauma he was suffering with you carried over when he came online here."

"Oh my god, poor thing. He scared himself out of the emitter," Mikaela murmured. "He's had it so rough."

Chase brushed a kiss to the side of her niece's head. "Mirage knocked him out." She dug into the pocket of her slacks and drew out the holo-emitter Hound had left behind when his matrix shattered. She offered it up to the Master Spy. "Can you transfer him back into this? He was getting better while he was pretending to be human. I think it calms him down."

Mirage nodded after only a brief hesitation. To his credit, he did not let his distaste of the option show. "I can transfer his consciousness into the device, but... the blow I dealt him will keep him unconscious for a while."

"I don't care," Chase sighed.

Ratchet looked up from his duties directing the injured, his expression stoney. "Transfer him and lock him into the emitter. Override the default settings if you have to. I can't deal with him doing any more damage to his frame if he onlines and freaks out again. And while you're at it, why don't you shift him into alt mode. Roll him someplace that he will be out of the way."

"The Solarium," Elita One intoned absently, transforming slowly. She weaved slightly on her feet, as if dizzy. "Roll him into the Solarium. His mind might not be in his frame, but he loves the plants in there. It'll be good for him."

"The Solarium will be fine," Ratchet agree, returning his attentions to Sideswipe and his shattered arm. The red twin did not look himself, but rather looked like a bomb that might go off at any moment. He was trapped between Prowl and Sunstreaker, both of who had their hands on him to keep him in place. His energon still sluggishly seeped down his frame, painting Wheeljack's alt mode beneath him. "Come on, let's get you to the med bay..."

Optimus took to his feet and sighed, aching all over. "Just be careful with Hound, Mirage. When you are done, come find us."

Mirage offered a shallow bow, stretching out a finger whose tip opened up into snaking cables that attached themselves to the tiny emitter Chase offered. The Master Spy then gained remote access to Hound's processor and did the necessary transfer, looking away when a human-like body formed out of light and force fields. The matrix of the figure was still programmed with the funeral clothes he had been wearing, but somehow looked more haggard than he should.

Chase shushed the unconscious figure, easing him to the ground. Her fingers shook as she brushed ruffled black hair from his forehead, letting his head rest on her lap. Mikaela came down after her, kissing Hound on his cheek as if she could comfort him. Both humans patted his true form before Mirage induced the transformation to his alt mode.

Everywhere around them was a confusion of Autobots and humans wondering what they were supposed to do now. The girl who was supposed to be dead wasn't dead. A Neutral who had been alive not even an hour ago was now dead, her frame still laying in the Banes' backyard. An Autobot that was supposed to be on their side was now not. And the powerful Allspark that was supposed to be nigh-indefeatable was... dying.

The darkened evening was suddenly pierced by the confused cry of one distraught little girl.

"Why did Bumblebee attack us? Why? Why! Whyyyyyyy?" Annabelle wailed, brought into her father's arms from back of the car where she had been silent for most of the drive over. Her eyes had been glassy with the shellshocked look of someone too stunned to understand what was happening around her. Now there was fear glistening around the fat tears spilling down her cheeks. "Why did he wreck Chase's house? Daddy, what's going on? Why was there two Optimus Primes? I'm scared! Daddy, I'm scared!"

"Shush, baby. It's okay. It's okay. You're safe." The look on his face said that Will did not think everything was going to be okay. He pushed his daughter's face into the crook of his neck, wrapping her up tight in his arms to rock her back and forth. She clung to him with choking strength, continuing to wail, but the sound was muffled now. Her small body shook like a trembling leaf in a storm.

"Here," Simmons croaked hoarsely, fishing into his pocket for a set of keys. "Take her to my apartment. She doesn't need to see all this."

"She's seen enough," Will sighed, stroking his daughter's soft golden curls. "She's going to be in therapy for the rest of her life."

Sarah drew a shaking breath before accepting the keys, and then determinedly clutched them to her chest. Her eyes searched for answers, first in the agent's eyes, and then in the giants who towered over her. She wanted the same answers her daughter continued to scream for. Her gaze settled on Ironhide, the mech who had always been a fond, stalwart guardian for her little girl.

"Go on, Sarah," Ironhide urged quietly, knowing there was nothing he could give the woman. His strength was gone, leaving him feeling hollowed out inside. He kept seeing yellow out of the corner of his optic, thinking for one stupid moment that it was Bumblebee. Good, sweet Bumblebee. But it was only Sunstreaker, looking nearly as shellshocked as Annabelle.

Chromia crouched down, looking as if she wanted to try comforting the small human girl. Annabelle's eyes grew frantic at the sight of her, starting to cry louder. Too many things had happened to her tonight. She's seen her beloved alien robots fighting, she had seen one of them get their spark ripped out and die right in front of her. The illusion that they were good and friendly and couldn't hurt anyone was shattered. Now they scared her.

Epps took the keys from Sarah when the little metal loop kept jangling from how badly her hands shook. "Come on, I'll drive." He tipped a dark brow in Simmons' direction. "You ain't coming?"

Simmons already had a cigarette alite between his fingers. "No. I'll stick around here. There's probably some shit that has to get done."

Blaster trotted over with a solemn expression. "You'll be with me. I'm getting an incoming alert that Starscream is approaching the planet. I will need you for getting clearance on a landing spot big enough for his warship. It's a Titan-class ship, so we're going to need a lot of room."

"Right. I'll get on that." He flicked ash from the tip of his smoke, meeting eyes with Epps while jerking his chin in the Banes' direction. "Take them with you. They don't need to be out here in the middle of the night."

Chase jerked her head when she realized she was being talked about. She licked her lips, eyeing Mikaela next to her, and then nodded. "Yeah, we don't need this shit right now. I need to get Hound someplace calm before he wakes up."

It went without saying that she couldn't go back to her own home. It currently had a Bluetsreak-sized hole in the back of it.

"My place," Dr. Spring offered automatically, leaning out the window of the human-driven van she was riding in. "You can stay at my place for the time being until something can be figured out." She got out and opened the trunk, unfolding a blanket that had been tucked in the back. "You two can sit in here for the drive. It's big enough for the both of you."

Careful as she could, Chase eased out from under Hound's holographic bulk. Her arms curved under him gently, one under his back and the other under his legs, and then she heaved with a strained grunt. Mikaela caught her before she overbalanced and went back to the pavement. Chase's arms strained under Hound's considerable weight, but she cradled him without complaint. She silently bore him to the trunk and curled him in the small space, heaving herself up after him. She let her legs dangle out as they drove away.

Mikaela twisted her fingers together, watching the van depart. Another car waited for her, idling quietly with its strange assortment of passengers.

Miles was driving, looking strangely determined as he kept his eyes straight ahead. One eye was glowing, leaving a little reflection of blue in the glass ahead of him. The other eye was dark, stained red from stress. Sam was in the passenger's seat with his face pressed up against the cool glass of the car, looking sicker and more exhausted as time passed. He had used up too much energy doing everything he had done, especially with his last jaunt of closing up any wounds Bumblebee might have scored on the others. Sideswipe's furious demands to resurrect Roulette had taken their toll; he didn't know how to resurrect anyone, and even if he did, the amount of energy necessary would probably kill him.

Sari and Miko were tucked into the back, huddled together and clutching hands as if they meant to anchor each other. Miko curled herself around her charge like she meant to shield Sari from the whole world.

Sam pushed open the passenger's door and nearly fell out. The seatbelt around his chest caught him like a hook in a fish's mouth.

"There's nothing more you can do for us, Sam," Optimus said, kneeling to the boy. He was gentle as he pushed the human back into the car and shut the door.

"I can... I don't know. I can do something," Sam mumbled absently against the the window, the pronounced glow of his vacant eyes glinting in the glass.

"There is nothing," Optimus replied wearily. "If you do any more, you may put yourself in stasis."

_Or worse_, was the unspoken warning. Thanks to Nemesis, everyone now knew the big secret that had been weighing on Sam's shoulders for so long. It wasn't just that he was being effected by the Allspark. He was dying from it.

"We cannot afford to have you out like that," Optimus sighed. "Go home. Rest for the night. There is nothing that can be done tonight that cannot wait until the morning." He patted the roof of the car. "Go on, Miles. Drive home."

Miles sighed, jerking his chin to Mikaela to hurry her into the car. She jumped in the back, doing her best not to disturb the two girls already there. They eyed her suspiciously, Sari with fear glinting in her brown eyes, and Miko with defensive anger. Nobody spoke until Miles parked the car.

"Okay," he breathed, running his hands up and down the steering wheel. "Okay. Mikaela, you take Sam up to his apartment. I think you two should have some time alone. Get Sam to bed. Get him to rest. Whatever it is you can do with him."

"Right." She felt awkward falling out of the back of the car, coming around the front, and helping Sam out. He was zapped of strength, barely able to lean against her without falling over. If he fell, she didn't know if she would be able to carry him like Chase had done for Hound. All she could do was stay silent and accept the mild burning sensation of Sam's skin against her own. It was like a thousand little pinpricks, an electric current snapping between them everywhere their bare flesh touched.

Sam cleared his throat, peering up at the woman preventing him from eating concrete. He could see tension in the lines of her face as she hid the pain of touching him. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Mikaela assured, moving slowly toward the door.

Miles stayed behind in the car for a long while afterward, not sure what he was supposed to say to the two strangers in his backseat. He knew Sari, sort of... but he didn't think bringing up the fact that she had spilt wine on his pants a couple years ago and never paid for the dry cleaning. It went without saying that he shouldn't mention the fact that he thought of her and her company as his Arch Nemeses. The Asian woman with her looked like the sort of woman who could kick his ass if he made Sari cry.

As if able to sense his regard, Miko shot him a killing look. "Are we going to sleep out here?"

"No, I guess not," Miles sighed. "I guess you two are with me. I'd tell you that things like this don't happen every day, but it would kind of be a lie."

"Are you kidding me?" Miko snapped, bundling Sari out of the back. "Were you not paying attention to what happened back there?"

"Yeah, I saw," Miles replied, shrugging out of his jacket to offer to Sari. "I'll admit that was pretty extreme. Things aren't usually that bad. You know what? Forget it. It was a bad joke."

By the time they got into the lobby of the building, Mikaela and Sam had already gone up, but others had come down after hearing about what happened. They loitered in the chairs, pacing the spacious ground floor as if in a daze. Miles tried not to meet anyone's eye, hoping that no one asked him any questions. He was lucky to guide his guests to the elevator without incident, managing to get to his floor without Miko's death glare melting the flesh off his bones.

The door to his apartment looked like a safe haven, and his life-sized cardboard cutout of_ Xena the Warrior Princess _was a comforting sight.

Sari sniffled from under his warm jacket, eyeing the 90s pop culture lesbian symbol. "Where'd you get that?"

"At a convention I went to a couple of years ago," Miles said with a sheepish shrug.

Sari finally managed to meet his gaze, her eyes focusing on only one of his. "Your eye is glowing."

Miles quickly looked away. "That's because it's not my eye."

Miko wrapped Sari up close to her body, under the protective cloak of her arm. "You need a hot shower. We're going to get all the dirt off you, and then you're going to sleep for a week. Your dad never has to hear anything about this, okay? He'll deport me for sure. And he'll probably stick a GPS on you. Again."

Sari nodded weakly, letting herself be guided to the bathroom Miles pointed out. He went to the kitchen to wander around aimlessly, listening while the water turned on and the two girls spoke to each other in hushed tones. There was no need for the whispering, though. Neither of them were speaking English. When Miko emerged a few minutes later, a waft of steam followed on her heels. She had Sari's clothes waded up in her fist.

"You got anything for her to wear?"

"Yeah, maybe. Give me a second." Miles shot off into his room where he collected a large t-shirt, a pair of flannel pants, and terry cloth robe. Nothing fancy, but everything was clean.

Miko gave it a nod of approval, opened the bathroom door a second time, and threw the clothes in without looking. Once done, she turned back to the kitchen and started opening every cupboard she came across. There was almost a desperate air about her.

"You got anything to drink?" she asked. "And I don't mean water."

"Sure." He shifted aside some things in an open cupboard, pulling out a bottle of vodka that had been full a couple of weeks ago. Now it was mostly empty.

"Not much," Miko observed gravely.

"I got backups," Miles admitted, bringing out a bottle of tequila he had been saving for a special occasion. This wasn't a special occasion, but it was the sort of thing he didn't want to think about for a couple of hours. Tequila was good for making people forget.

"Good enough," Miko said, snatching the bottle and jimmying it open. She drank straight from it, and then sputtered at the burning flavour.

"It's not sake," Miles warned belatedly with a wry shake of his head. He swigged straight from the vodka bottle, appreciating the burn he had grown to love over the last couple of stressful weeks.

"You know, 'sake' just refers to any alcoholic drink," Miko shrugged absently, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "The drink you call 'sake' in English is really called _nihonshu._"

"Oh." Well now he felt a little stupid.

"I don't care if it can take paint off a car, right now I'll drink anything," Miko admitted stubbornly. She wandered out of the kitchen into the living room, throwing herself onto the couch and propping her socked feet up on the coffee table scattered with work-related papers and magazines. She stared down the neck of the bottle. She appeared to be trying to think of something to say – anything that meant she didn't have to think about what had happened. If she was unnerved to be in the house of a stranger, she didn't show it.

"How did you lose your eye?" she suddenly wondered.

"An accident," Miles replied automatically.

"It's always an accident," Miko snorted curtly, her fingers tightening around the neck of the tequila bottle. "No ones does something like that on purpose."

"I guess you're right." He shuffled awkwardly. "Seven years ago... almost eight, I guess, there was a fight between the Autobots and someone who worked for The Fallen – that smokey demon thing you saw with Mikaela. I was in a car, there was an accident, and a piece of glass went through my eyeball." He didn't remember much of the accident, except for the feeling of the glass going in. It was a hot, wet sliding motion as it sliced so easily into the gelatinous sac of his eye. The rush of wetness down his face as blood and fluids flowed free. After that, he only remembered screaming.

Miko shuddered, taking a deep draught from her tequila. "Do things like this really happen every day?"

Miles sat down next to her, thoughtlessly shoving everything off the coffee table to scatter across the floor. "No. The Cybertronians aren't bad people, they're just damaged, and come with a lot of baggage." He swigged more vodka, appreciating the burn all the way down.

"Yeah, baggage. Is that what you call an evil shape-shifting-ancient-alien-god-thing, the evil version of Optimus Prime, and the yellow one that freaked out on everyone?" Miko followed with another long suck on the tequila bottle. She made a face as it went down.

"I don't know what to call all of that."

A prolonged silence stretched on between them, with only the sounds of the shower hissing in the background.

"Is Mikaela going to be okay here?"

The question struck Miles as odd, but then he had to remember that Miko had none of the backstory that everyone else knew. She was a stranger coming into the madness with no warning. All she knew was what she had seen so far, and sufficed to say that Nothing and No One had made a good impression.

"This is Mikaela's life – she's strong, and she knows the score around here. She'll be fine," Miles assured quietly.

"Yeah?" She was quiet for a time again, swilling tequila around in its bottle before taking a fortifying swig. "What about with the Ambassador? He glows in the dark, and he fucking melted my gun with a single touch. That's not normal."

"It's normal for him. Mikaela is safe with Sam. He'd never hurt her." But still, a scared part of Miles worried for both of them. It would only take a little spark to create an accident... He took the last drops of the vodka as a means of blocking out those thoughts.

Miko tugged awkwardly at the collar of her shirt. "Is he... human? Or something else?"

All Miles could do was offer a sad shrug, because he wasn't sure of the answer anymore.

"So, what about you?" Miles wondered, hoping to steer the conversation away from less shitty topics. "How long have you been with Sari?"

"A couple of years. We met at a concert, and I got her out of a tight spot. I've been with her ever since," The way her expression shifted uneasily, it was obvious she didn't want to talk about it.

Behind them, the shower stopped and they listened to the sounds of Sari getting dressed. Miles glanced over at the woman he was sitting with, finding it odd that he was getting drunk with a billionaire's daughter's bodyguard when he should be doing something else. He should be looking after his best friend, welcoming Mikaela back from the dead, looking after the dozens of humans who had been traumatized and banged up from the fight at the funeral. But no, he was sitting on his couch with a nearly empty bottle of vodka.

Sari appeared in the doorway, backlit by the light in the bathroom. Her red hair was twisted up in a towel, her eyes nearly as red from crying while the water ran. She was still beautiful, enough to steal Miles' breath away. He wished he had some form of comfort for the young heiress.

"Got something that makes it hurt less," Miko called, summoning her employer over and shoving the bottle into her hands.

Sari weaselled her way between the two of them on the cushions, cradling the bottle without sipping from it. She glanced at Miles from beneath the overhang of the towel.

Miles saluted her vaguely. "Sorry you got mixed up in this."

"Sorry your friend is dying. At least we got Mikaela back to you," she replied numbly, and then took a long draught of the tequila like she were dying of thirst.

"_Kampai_," Miko grunted quietly with a grimace.

* * *

Optimus stared up at the stars and cursed at how aloof and unaffected they looked. As a young Prime-in-training, he had been taught to look to the stars for inspiration – as a Prime, he was to look as they looked, to aspire to their distant power. In that moment, he could only attest to feeling as volatile as the core of a star right now.

The ground beneath him was too hard, too rough. He felt every grain of soil grating up through the slates in his armour. The air was dry and cold, whistling through his frame on a bitter wind. Night had settled fully, with the weight of the world coming down with it. It was lonely out in the desert, far from the lights of the base and the comforting glow of the Solarium, but it was the only place that they knew they would not be overheard. And if Nemesis came back for round two, they were far enough away from the humans to prevent causalities.

Not far from the Prime and the few commanders than had convened with him, a yawning black canyon opened up in the ground. Even after so many years, the mark Unicron had left on the planet was still as virulent as ever. If worst comes to worst, they could always throw Nemesis into the chasm.

Ironhide stared down at his clenched fists in his lap. "This is bad, Optimus."

"I know."

"Nemesis struck a blow today..." He trailed off, not able to finish.

From behind them, Chromia snarled her frustration. "Nemesis is playing with us! _Toying_ with us! He wanted Bumblebee from the very beginning – he could have _taken _Bumblebee any time he wanted - but he waited until Bumblebee handed himself over because he liked the game. It's the same with Sam! He could have snatched the Allspark away from us today, but all he did was taunt!" Her sharp feet kicked at the ground, sending clods of dirt flying. Animals shrieked in terror, running in all directions away from the femme. "We're _nothing_ to him. The only reason he doesn't come back now and finish us off is because he enjoys how much he's hurting us right now!"

Ironhide revved deeply, craning around to cast his sparkmate a hard look. He did not fault her for the sharpness of her words. Everyone was on edge. But he wished the truths she spoke did not strike so deep.

"He knows our weaknesses, but we don't know his," Mirage observed darkly. "If what you've told me about the encounter is accurate, then Nemesis is looking to stir dissent among us. We took the bait today with Bumblebee."

"We might not know his weaknesses, but we know what he wants," Jazz countered. "He wanted Bumblebee and now he has Bumblebee. Now he's setting his full sights on the Allspark. We can work with that."

"Work with what? The Allspark is _dying_, remember?" Mirage reminded bitterly. "Not much of a secret weapon. And the _gall _of Sam not to tell us. To find out like this is a slap in our faceplates!"

The saboteur's mouthplates tightened into a thin line.

"Sam had his reasons for his silence," Elita One tried to reason, her voice only tremoring slightly. "I can only imagine how scared he has been, with such a big power inside such a small body. Around every turn, there is something to remind him that he is less and less human, and that it is _our _fault for bringing this mess to him."

"Is that any excuse for not telling us that _our_ source of life is disappearing through _his_ slow death?" Mirage replied. "If we had known sooner, we could have been searching the universe over for a cure! For a way to transfer the Allspark to another vessel! As it stands, the way has been left wide open for Nemesis to come in and offer him sweet nothings to ponder on and be tempted by."

"We will discuss it with Sam in the morning. Little could have been done tonight with him on the verge of collapse," Optimus said heavily.

Ironhide rumbled pensively, a deep sound like distant thunder. "If we're not going to talk about Sam, how about we talk about Bumblebee. Like what the frag has been done to him? How the pit are we gonna get him back?" He thumped the ground with his clenched fist, creating an impressive crater in the dirt. He snorted through his vents to clear them of the dust plume he had stirred in his anger.

"Can we even be sure that was Bumblebee?" Chromia demanded caustically. "We just established that Nemesis is playing us. What better way to take us down than by using our love for Bumblebee against us. For all we know, what we saw could have been a... a doppelganger. A dressed-up energy leech, or worse."

"It _was_ Bumblebee," Optimus confirmed darkly, a twinge in his spark causing him to grimace. "I wish to Primus it wasn't him, but it was. Couldn't you tell by looking at him? He was standing right in front of us-"

"Yes. No... I don't know right now!" Chromia growled, both hands raking over her head. "I know what I saw, but I don't want to believe it. I don't want to think of what Nemesis had to do to Bumblebee to make him like that... I can't think of Bumblebee willingly agreeing to let go of everything to become that."

"He might not have had a choice, Chromia," Optimus sighed.

Elita One murmured a soft note, twining her fingers together as she paced a slow circuit through the dirt. Like her sparkmate, she wished to any higher power that the creature they had witnessed that evening was not Bumblebee. She wished for a great many things. But she knew the truth, had listened as it had been screamed in her head, as the light of day shone down on Bumblebee and cast a truly dark shadow.

Optimus glanced back at his mate, opening his mouthplates to say something to her, and then decided better upon it. He returned his gaze to the glittering stars above him.

Elita felt his brief gaze, followed by the twinge of his disappointment and impotence. She stayed away from everyone in the small gathering outside the Solarium, not aloof but apart. She did not dare come near for fear of suffering a panic attack at their closeness. It was too soon after being held captive under Sam's power, and though he had not meant harm, enough damage had been done in opening old wounds. She felt the breaking in her spark that she could not be near her own sparkmate, but underneath that clutching desperation was the resigned understanding of the mech she had so much faith in.

"He could have been reprogrammed," Ironhide offered futilely. The tone he used was grasping, as if he did not even bother to believe his own false hope. "Getting Bee back could be as easy as rebooting him, or getting Ratchet to restore his original programming."

"Reprogramming can only go so far if the spark rejects what it has been given. What we saw with Bumblebee today had nothing to do with his processor," Elita dismissed quietly. She pressed a hand to the side of her head, trying to will away the voices she heard. They gave no comfort, only a distracting headache. Their cacophony reminded her of why Nightbeat had rarely ever recharged – the voices he had given to her had driven him to near insanity.

Jazz couldn't see her, but his head turned in her direction as if he meant to take her measure by the sound of her voice alone. His expression was grave, from what could be seen behind the shield of his precious visor.

"Having trouble, Elita One?" wondered the saboteur.

"Nothing I can't handle," Elita dismissed quickly, not liking his scrutiny. She dropped her hand from her head, fisting it tightly.

He let himself be dismissed, turning his faceplate away. "You're right, ya know? About Bumblebee. Ah don't think this has anything ta do with his processor. Ah think, in this case, Nemesis might have been telling the truth. What we saw back there _was_ the real Bumblebee."

"Some sort of extra-dimensional creature, like Nemesis?" Mirage posited with obvious distaste.

"Don't know what else ya might call him," Jazz shrugged, lacking the words necessary to describe what he had felt in Bumblebee's presence. It had been as if the layers had been pulled back from the bot, exposing a raw nerve to the air. Without his optics, Jazz had not been able to see what Bumblebee had been remade into, but his processor had envisioned a being that had been turned inside out. What had once haunted distant recesses now seethed outward.

"You say this because of what you saw in Bumblebee's head so long ago," Optimus observed gravely.

"Probably," Jazz agreed with a shrug.

Prime shook his head, his tone darkly musing. "I always suspected that you knew more than you let on."

"Ah usually do know more," Jazz intoned dismissively. "Ah knew Bumblebee was not from the Allspark, but that wasn't mah secret ta tell. Ah didn't know what everything else meant."

"You should have told someone."

Jazz snorted a harsh, mirthless sound. "Really, Optimus? Who was Ah gonna tell? Ah couldn't confront ya about it. If Ah told anyone else about how Bumblebee had been made without use of the Allspark, it would have started something that Ah didn't want ta be a part of." His arms crossed stubbornly over his silver chest. "It's not like he's the only secret Ah've kept from ya for your own good."

"When you looked inside him, did you see what he really was?" Prime pressed. "Did you _know?_"

"No," Jazz replied tightly. "All Ah saw was a scared little youngling who only wanted ta know where he came from. He had no memories of his creators, no idea where he was from, or what had been done ta him before ya brought him ta Iacon. Ah did what Ah thought was right by going inta his head."

Bumblebee's plight had struck a chord with Jazz, because the majority of Jazz's life was exactly like Bumblebee's beginnings – a mystery. At the height of his madness, Jazz only remembered flashes of things. Brief, disjointed memories. He had hurt a lot of bots, and had lived as a scourge upon Cybertron and elsewhere. He knew these things about himself, but the details of his life remained beyond his grasp – perhaps even too terrible for him to want to remember.

He refused to regret the things that had made him what he was, but far be it from him to wish that fate on an innocent youngling.

"When I cracked the firewall, Ah saw the memories. Ah saw how he was made. There was no flashing sign inside his head ta say that something else was lurking in there. The only hint was some odd corruption in the data, a darkness that had no place being in a little youngling's mind." It had been too much like the darkness that had been fostered in himself at a young age. "Ah figured that it was a result of the way he had come inta the world. Ah wanted ta give him the best chances possible at a normal life, so Ah partitioned the data to make it inaccessible ta him, and then put the firewall back up ta make it look like it never came down."

"It makes me wonder what other secrets you have kept from us," Mirage drawled.

"More than ya want ta know, but not enough ta make meh an enemy," Jazz replied boldly, tilting his chin up in challenge.

"This isn't the time to start a fight over Jazz being himself," Optimus cut in, successfully defusing the tension between the two powerful commanders. "Blame cannot rest on him. There was no way for him to know the meaning of what he saw in Bumblebee's mind. Even I was tricked when I drew him into this world through my spark. I had thought him from the same place I had always draw sparks through the Allspark."

Finally dragging his optics away from the stars, Optimus shifted so that he could see the small gathering of his commanders. "If blame should be placed anywhere, it should firmly be on my shoulders. I am the one who was foolish enough to think I could bring life to this world without the Allspark."

"You sought to give us hope," Elita One countered. "Misguided, perhaps, but Bumblebee had been meant as a beacon to remind us that life was worth fighting for."

Chromia heaved a vile curse into the night, scrubbing her hand violently over her faceplate. "How the pit did everything go so wrong?" she demanded. "What the frag are we supposed to do now?"

It was a good question, and sadly there was no immediate answer.

Optimus cast his gaze to Elita One, nearly as aloof as the stars themselves – she was beautiful and untouchable, even to him. She met his gaze, drawn to it, and her optics were so sad as she gazed at him. She always looked so sad. He could feel her presence through their bond, knew of her love for him, her wish to be with him, and the awareness that she hurt him with her distance.

Without taking her gaze from her sparkmate, Elita answered Chromia's question. "We are going to take this one step at a time."

"In which direction, though?" Mirage wondered coolly, pacing a track through the dirt. "What problem can we solve first? We are faced with impossible decisions in all directions."

"They're not impossible decisions, just hard ones," Jazz countered tensely. "Like deciding whether or not we need to kill Bumblebee. That's not impossible. He can be killed, we just have to decide if that's the right thing ta do."

"That's not a decision we can make with just us here," Optimus sighed. "The other commanders – no, _all _the Autobots here should have a say in this."

The line of Jazz's mouth turned grim. "Are we gonna put Bumblebee's life ta a vote, then? That's stupid and ya know it. Ya saw him back there. The Bumblebee we knew is gone. We just have ta kill the thing that's walking around in his armour."

"Jazz!" Chromia snapped.

"Ya know Ah'm right," Jazz shot back. "Ya saw what came out of that portal with Nemesis. That wasn't Bumblebee. It was something else, and it had no qualms about trying ta kill us. Ah'm used ta making hard decisions, so if it comes down to it, Ah'll make the kill shot and let the rest of ya hate me for it."

It was the harshness of his words that reminded everyone that Jazz had not always been an Autobot, nor had he always been a good bot. There were things he was willing to do that few others would even dare contemplate.

"This is Bumblebee's life we are talking about," Ironhide rumbled in warning, flashing the saboteur a dark look that he could not see but he certainly _felt_ it. "We're not going to be making any rash decisions tonight."

"No, not tonight, but soon," Jazz replied steadily.

"I have never hesitated to call you a hypocrite, but thank you for demonstrating the fact so succinctly," Mirage sneered. "We gave you every chance to redeem yourself when Prowl dragged your sorry aft to our doorstep and made you our problem, and yet you are the first to volunteer to kill Bumblebee the moment he goes bad? Your sense of loyalty astounds me."

"There is a difference between Bee an' Ah. Ah wasn't an evil god dragged out of another world against his will and stuffed into a mortal cage," Jazz spat. "It took Nemesis time before he was able ta break away from The Fallen – that must mean he needed ta gather his strength. If it's the same with Bee, then we still have time ta strike before he gets too powerful. If Ah get the shot, then Ah'll take it."

"We shouldn't be too hasty in this," Elita One warned.

"Will ya be so reserved when it's Bee's hands crushing one of our sparks, instead of Nemesis'?" Jazz asked.

Elita looked away sharply, as if she had been slapped. "All I mean to say is that we still have one resource open to us that might be... of use."

"The Fallen," Optimus said, confirming his suspicions when a wave of dread filled him through his sparkbond.

"He has experience in matters of... otherworldliness. If he is willing enough to safeguard Mikaela in order to bargain with us, then perhaps he may know something about Bumblebee or Nemesis and is willing to share. He will...help us." The words obviously cost her, their sound trembling on the night breeze. She shivered as if suddenly freezing.

"And if this is just an elaborate plot by him?" Mirage intoned.

Optimus eased to his feet, making his way to his sparkmate's side. He hid his hurt when she subtly shifted away from his towering figure, frightened to be caged in.

"We will just have to take the risk," the Prime said. "The Fallen may be a mad creature, but he has shown himself to be as equally clever. He knows things that we do not – perhaps he knows of a way to save Sam's life, or maybe he might know what has truly happened to Bumblebee and how it can be reversed."

"How do we... deal with him?" Ironhide said disdainfully.

"We bargain," Jazz said, and he almost sounded relieved to have a way out of his bid to murder Bumblebee. "The Fallen has things we want, and we have things he wants. The Twins have more experience with him than Ah do, but Ah know he works by making deals. If he gives us anything, we have to return something of equal value... and Ah imagine he's gonna price information about Nemesis and Bee at a premium."

And breaking a deals with the spectre had major consequences, as the saboteur knew well.

"So, we are really considering this?" Chromia asked incredulously. "Hands up if anyone really thinks this is a good idea."

"It's not a good idea, but it is all we have right now," Optimus said. "The Fallen might be our only means of learning more about Nemesis, and hopefully he will know something about getting Bumblebee back. None of us has to like it, but he may be our only hope right now."

"I imagine the others are going to object to this," Mirage observed. "Some more violently than others."

"They will be dealt with," Optimus replied.

"And if The Fallen does as he is wont to do?" the Master Spy pressed.

Optimus shuttered his optics, only to startle at the soft touch of tiny fingers slipping into his hand. He looked down to see Elita One's hand gently squeezing his, supporting him even when their future prospects clearly terrified her. He closed his hand around hers softly, trying not to spook her.

"We will deal with whatever comes our way. We have to."

* * *

Sam was out cold the moment his head hit the pillow.

To be honest, he'd been nearly insensate halfway up in the elevator. Every floor that had passed, his weight bore heavier on Mikaela's shoulder until she was nearly dragged to the floor. Though Sam struggled against the pull of exhaustion, it had been too strong, and Mikaela could not blame him after seeing all the amazing feats he had managed.

The very unfortunate thing about Sam's flagging strength was that Mikaela was not freakishly strong to make up for it. As much as she wanted to, she could not simply sweep Sam off his feet and carry him down the hall to his door. What happened in reality went more along the lines of heaving his dead weight down the hall, half-dragging, half-carrying, while Sam was semi-conscious enough to push with his feet. Mikaela was forced to prop him on her hip while she patted him down for the keys, and then juggled his weight while opening the door.

Getting to the bedroom had been another interesting affair. She only dropped him once, and hopefully no one was going to notice that bruise on his forehead shaped like the doorframe.

All that work had been worth it for the moment when he tucked his hand in hers, offering a grateful smile lit by the eerie light of his eyes. She pushed his body onto the bed, and that had been the end of it.

Now Mikaela laid with him, not yet ready to move away. She stretched out beside him, shivering in the contrast between the cool sheets beneath her and the unnatural heat Sam's body radiated. To make him more comfortable in sleep, she had stripped Sam of most of his outerwear – his blazer, shirt, shoes, socks, and slacks. Laying in nothing but his boxers, the glowing glyphs across his skin were especially obvious in the dark. They were bright enough to illuminate the room, casting off an eerie blue glow that made the shadows dance.

Careful not to disturb him, she traced the lines of his face. His jawline, cheekbones, under his eyes, done the line of his nose. She pet his short hair, stroked down his neck. She gently caressed the marks of the Allspark, feeling a strange crackling energy tingle up through her arm.

Unable to help herself, she leaned across the scant distance between them and planted a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

Sam did not even twitch at the contact. He laid like the dead. The eerie translucence of his skin only added to his corpselike appearance, where the play of light and shadow made the hollows of his cheeks extra dark, his eyes sunken into his skull. His exposed chest looked wasted, shadows showing where his ribs began to peek through. Sam had always been rangy, but now he appeared sickeningly gaunt.

He looked like his was dying, which was fitting...

A sudden sound erupted in the quiet, shocking Mikaela when she realized it came from her. A lone sob, sounding more like a choke. It was followed by another, and then another, until the choking sobs were joined by the blurred vision heralding tears. And then she was just laying there, crying her eyes out with her boyfriend laying like he was dead next to her.

Everything around her was the same. The smells of the apartment were the same. Her clothes on the floor were in the exact places she had left them. The melted clock on the bedside table had not been moved. Everything was the same. Same. Same!

But everything was also _different._

Her house was in ruins. Bumblebee wasn't Bumblebee. Sam was dying!

A dark part of her questioned why she even bothered to come back to all of this. She didn't like the first time around all that much, and the second round was looking like it was going to suck just as much. But the moment she thought it, it made her hate herself for thinking something so selfish, and the tears came harder, and she cried louder into her pillow. She wished Sam would wake up to hold her and comfort her, but even that was a selfish thought. He was wiped. And a part of her suspected that he was teetering on the edge of going into a death-lock. If he wasted energy waking up, he'd probably fall straight into stasis.

Mikaela cried for longer than she cared to, feeling more and more pathetic the longer she cried by herself, in the dark. Even with Sam beside, she felt alone.

At one point, she must have cried herself to sleep, because she found herself jolting awake to the sound of murmured voices and the chink of glassware. Light poured in from underneath the door, strobing as people walked back and forth in the room beyond. The sky was still dark outside, though her midnight visitors apparently did not care what time it was.

"Fuck," Mikaela swore, feeling even more shitty than she did before passing out. Her eyes stung, and her stomach churned in a knot of sour feelings. As much as she loved to be back home, she needed time to decompress before she saw everyone again. At the very least, she needed a shower to get rid of the desert grit from her hair and the linger smell of The Fallen off her skin.

Shoring up the gumption necessary to show herself in public, Mikaela lurched to her feet and looked down at herself. She stripped off Sam's jeans and the borrowed blouse, throwing on her own clothing from the floor. It was freezing cold, but soft and familiar against her skin. She caught her dark reflection in the mirror on the wall, relieved that she looked like herself. Being around No One for so long had made her begin to doubt if she was really Mikaela Banes at all or if she was just an extension of his insanity.

Giving one last once over to Sam, she tugged the sheets higher and tucked him in. She laid a kiss to his forehead, heartened when he actually grunted in his sleep and his brow crinkled. It made him look less dead, though no less strange while he still glowed.

Pasting a smile on, Mikaela pulled open the bedroom door – and promptly froze.

Her company was not exactly what she had been expecting – insofar as she had been expecting human company, and what she saw gathered around Sam's kitchen and lounging in his living room were certainly not human at all.

A furless, black-skinned jackal trotted up to her, and then promptly stood up in the shape of a man to take her hand and place it on his arm in a very gentlemanly gesture. Gold bracers guarded his wrists, and an immaculate shawl of gold draped his neck and shoulders. He looked a lot less fierce than the first time she saw him charging into battle against Nemesis, but certainly a lot more otherworldly than the last time she saw him on the airplane.

He gave her an odd smile, a baring of his ivory white fangs in a muzzle of blackened flesh.

"I wasn't expecting you," she said dumbly, allowing the Egyptian god of mummification and the afterlife to lead her to the table and set her down at an empty setting. He sat beside her, an odd cross between _impossible_ and _domestic_ as he took a teacup in his clawed paws and sipped from it. The tea smelled exotic.

"Do I call you Anubis, or do I call you Mr. Jacquel?" Mikaela pressed in that same dumbstruck tone.

The jackal-headed god set down his teacup and shrugged. "Either one will do."

Mikaela looked down at her empty teacup. "Am I dreaming?"

"Do you want to be?" asked the god who sat on her other side, a man with a strange bird head whose beak was long and curved. He poured her tea from a teapot that Mikaela was one hundred percent certain Sam did not own. It didn't look very old, and it definitely did not look Egyptian. It looked... _British_.

Thoth caught her staring, pulling back the teapot and set it back on the ornate silver tray. "British Museum," he said with a relish. "They hold enough of our stuff, it's only fair that we borrow theirs. Don't worry, they'll never miss it." He winked a bird eye at her.

Mikaela choked on nervous laughter. She tried to hide her panic by taking up her teacup and breathing in the spicy aroma of the tea. She took a sip, finding the flavour pungent and striking. Any lingering tiredness was instantly banished. Her hands shook as she set the teacup down on its saucer.

From across the table, a brown hand reached out and patted her wrist. The fingers glinted with dozens of rings of gold, with gold bangles on the wrist, and armlets on the upper arms. On the tips of the fingers, the nails were long, thick, and curved – _claws_. Instead of a woman's head, a black cat's head was perched on her shoulders with a sweetly concerned expression. The ears flicked back and forth absently, the earings in them jangling a soft tune.

"About that dreaming business, my dear," said Bastet in the warmest voice possible, "We can make this a dream if you want it to be."

"Are gods real?" Mikaela asked brokenly. "Are you really... real?"

"Do you think we are real?" Bastet asked lightly, her cat mouth moving slightly out of time with the words. Her very warm, very soft, very real hand gave Mikaela a gentle squeeze.

"Yes." The word felt thick on her tongue.

"Then we are real." Bastet drew back her hand to take a delicate sip of her tea, drinking rather than lapping like a cat.

Mikaela stared at the goddess who had helped to save her life. To her left was another god, and to her right, yet another. There was a man with a falcon head in the living room, sitting erect on the couch with a spear crossing his lap, watching with sharp eyes for any sign of undesirables. Mikaela imagined he was watching for The Fallen. There were others, half-formed shadows that perched on cushions or paced along the walls. They added to the quiet din, there but not there, filling up the quiet space with the comfort of people being _there. _

"I don't want to be alone right now," Mikaela mumbled, feeling a new wash of tears sting her eyes.

"That's why we're here," Bastet soothed, her words gently purred. "We didn't think you wanted to be alone."

"Why you?" Mikaela wondered, scoring her eyes with the back of her wrist to dash away unwanted tears.

"Familiar faces? You seem like a nice girl, and you have powerful allies," Bastet offered, one shoulder arching in a graceful gesture. "If you'd like another pantheon, I'm sure something can be arranged..."

"No, no, that's alright. You've gone to enough trouble already," Mikaela hurried to say, feeling the bizarre urge not to be rude. She took a fortifying sip of her tea. "Sam's dying... everything's so messed up. I don't think I can be alone right now."

"We know. We know," Bastet cooed sadly, stroking the back of her hand soothingly. "No One has put you through the wringer, my dear. But enough is enough. You've had a big day. It's time to rest now. This will all work out, you'll see."

"Can you save Sam?" she warbled.

"No," Anubis said gravely.

"He is beyond our help now," Horus said from the couch, never looking their way. "The Allspark has done its damage."

"Oh." Mikaela deflated sadly in her seat, glancing briefly at the sliver of open doorway into the bedroom, where Sam's blue light glowed steadily.

"Is there anything else we can do for you?" Bastet wondered.

"Stay until morning?" Mikaela asked wearily. Even if this was all a hallucination, or a dream, or just another way for No One to torment her, it was _nice_ right now. She needed company, but not people who were going to coddle her. She didn't want the faces of her friends and family crowding around her, their expressions bleak and strained as they dealt with their own problems. She felt safe surrounded by gods, which made a fantastical kind of sense when she had spent the last eight years dating the most powerful power source in all the universe.

"What makes you think we haven't been here the whole time?" Anubis chuckled, shaking his big jackal head. "_Mortals_. Just because you can't see it, you think it's not there."

"Of course we'll stay until morning," Bastet assured over the other god, simultaneous seeming to kick Anubis under the table. Or perhaps she cat-scratched him with her toenails.

Thoth leaned down to her with a pigeon-like coo, his feathers soft against her skin as he said, "You look like you could really use a spot of tea, my dear."

Mikaela swallowed the hard lump in a her throat, figuring that she could _really_ use a spot of tea.

* * *

"I don't remember falling asleep," Sam said as he walked the burning sands of a desert. He felt the grains shifting between his toes, sinking into the open gouges that scored his skin.

"No one ever remembers falling asleep," Lucifer replied blandly, keeping pace easily. His blonde hair shone like glided gold beneath the untamed sun, while his immaculate suit was nearly impossible to look upon as it simmered with a retina-searing glare.

"How do you know? Evil never sleeps," Sam groused, wishing he had a pair of pockets to shove his hands into. Unfortunately, he was naked. Again.

"Touché," the devil chuckled. "You're a clever boy. It makes me wish I tried harder for your soul."

Sam shrugged. "Your loss."

"_C'est la vie." _Lucifer shielded his jewel bright eyes to peer up at the unchanging sky, as if he meant to check the time or the direction of their progress. It was hot in the desert, but he didn't sweat. Sam imagined it was much hotter where he was from.

"So." Sam glanced at the same sky, but saw nothing significant. He almost wished to the skyline of Mission City, if only to break up the monotony of the whistling dunes scraping against the distant sky. "Why doesn't anyone remember when they fall asleep?"

He couldn't seem to stop himself from responding, the words pulled from him like a puppet pulled by strings. The words felt disembodied from the movements of his mouth.

A smirk glance was cast his way. "It is not until you wake up that you come to the logical conclusion that you had fallen asleep sometime in the past. You need to be conscious to remember something, and being conscious defeats the purpose of falling asleep."

Sam shot the devil a sidelong glare. "People remember their dreams, but they're unconscious while they dream."

"Are they really?" Lucifer wondered lightly, as if humouring a stupid, young child.

"Are they really _what_?" Sam snapped.

"Are they really dreaming?"

Sam made a face. "How can they not be dreaming?"

White silk-clad shoulders shrugged carelessly. "It is not like they remember falling asleep."

"But that would mean_ I'm_ awake right now. I'm not awake. I can't be. I know I'm dreaming."

"How do you know _you're_ dreaming?"

"Because I... just do," Sam said lamely, growing disgruntled with the conversation.

"Right. You are so eloquent." Lucifer shrugged a perfectly sculpted shoulder, rustling his immaculate wings. "What if you are both? Perhaps you are both awake and dreaming."

"I can't be both," Sam insisted. "This is a dream. It is obviously a dream. You can't be awake and dreaming at the same time."

One golden brow arched condescendingly. "Then what do you call daydreamers?"

"_Urgh!"_ He spread his arms wide to encompass the endless desert that stretched out to the horizons all around them. Reality had never looked so high-contrast. "All of this can't be _real_."

"Again, why not? _Real_ is such a subjective thing. People manipulate what is real all the time. Reality is built upon perception, and perception is all in the eye of the beholder," Lucifer said with a dismissive flick of his perfectly manicured hand. "If the dream is what you perceive, then it becomes reality. If reality is the prerequisite to being real, then all dreams are real for as long as you perceive them."

Sam pursed his lips, wanting to argue, but could think of nothing to say. The conversation was done. His part in the puppet show finished.

The devil cast him an enigmatic look, one that was not as inherently evil as all his other looks. Instead, it was a look that seemed to etch the fallen angel's age upon his eyes. He was ancient, and knew all the evils borne by man. He looked wearied by his existence.

"All things that are real, Sam, are only real because they are first dreamt of."

Sam made a noise at the back of his throat, a cross between disgust, annoyance, and an unbidden fear he could not pin down. "Why do you always come? Why can't I have someone else?"

"Because you won't let anything good happen to you."

They walked for what felt like hours. The sand shifted to cover their prints behind them, leaving no trace of their journey. Their landscape never changed, the dunes never shifting, nor did the shadows shift upon the sand. Though the sun never moved in the sky, Sam was convinced that days had passed before he grew too irritated to tolerate the dream any longer. He had the sneaking suspicion that they had not moved an inch from the moment the dream began.

"I'm sick of this!" he exclaimed, stopping dead in the sand. "Where the hell are we going?"

Lucifer cast him a look like he was stupid. "Nowhere."

"_What?" _

"We're already here."

Like a slap in the face, Sam jerked back with a sputtering curse. His eyes darted around and suddenly he realized his surroundings had changed. They had walked to the top of a rocky limestone outcropping, bleached white as bones under the unforgiving sun. The natural monument jutted like dry, jagged bones from the sand, pockmarked with empty black holes that stared outward like the dark sockets of a skull. The stone was sizzling hot beneath Sam's soles, and sharp enough to cut with every step. Pools of blue quickly spread beneath his feet. His blood felt cool compared to the stone.

"Dream logic," he sneered.

Lucifer's tone was the very definition of patronizing when he said, "You _are_ in a dream, after all."

Sam resisted the urge to spit a few choice words the devil's way. He took a deep, calming breath and let it out. When he could look at his company again without wanting to create an incident of biblical proportions, he asked, "So why the desert? Personal preference? Didn't you do some of your best work in the desert?"

"Actually, I do most of my best work on the internet."

"Of course you do." Sam still glared, waiting for an answer. He wasn't waking up without a damn good one.

Lucifer straightened the front of his lapels, unruffled by the Allspark's attitude. He seemed to think it was _cute_. "Who says _I_ had anything to do with this?"

Sam gave a black glare.

The devil rolled his jewel bright eyes, flashing yellow like a snake's under the piercing light. "You don't get it, do you? This isn't even _your_ dream."

Sam followed the tilt of the devil's head, squinting into heatwaves. At first he thought he was looking into a mirage, a mirror image of the outcropping beneath Sam's feet. But the figure standing atop of it was not Sam's reflection. Its shape was indistinct, its details blurred, as if it did not know what it was supposed to be. The lone figured stared unblinkingly down into Sam's soul.

It was dark and cold in Sam's head, but his heart lurched in his chest.

"Bee?" he croaked. "Bumblebee?"

That strange, blurred shape twisted its head about, searching for the owner of that name. The wind blew, bringing with it the dry sound of shivering thrushes at the height of summer. Sand picked up, rubbing Sam's skin raw, getting caught in the whirling gouges that decorated his skin. He felt each particle acutely, while watching as the sand passed through the phantom with ease.

"Bumblebee, it's me. It's Sam." He did not realize he had been creeping to the edge of the rockface until Lucifer's hand stayed him at the shoulder.

"That first step is a doozy."

Sam shrugged away, not caring for the bottomless black pit the opened up at his feet. "What's wrong with him? Why isn't he talking?"

"Bumblebee never existed, Sam. He was just a veneer that built up over top of the being who was really there, a bit like a fungus," said the devil. "What you see there is just an echo."

"You're wrong. He wouldn't be here if he wasn't real. You said this was his dream! He has to be real." To the mirage, he called out, "Bumblebee! Bumblebee, you _are_ real! I won't let you disappear! Just hold on, okay? We'll figure something out!"

The figure flickered, fading.

"No! Come back! Bumblebee, please don't go! _Please! _You can't leave me!"

It stopped fading. The head cocked to the side, obviously listening.

"Stay right there, okay?" Sam croaked, holding out his hand in a staying gesture. "Don't move. Stay right where I can see you. Don't go anywhere."

It became a little more solid as the echo settled.

Lucifer turned to leave.

"Hey," Sam called, not daring to look away from Bumblebee. "Thanks."

The devil shrugged nonchalantly. "I do my second best work in deserts." He departed the dream by stepping off the rock, and then was no longer there.

Now alone, Sam eased to the energon-stained edge of the outcropping and eased himself down to dangle his legs over. He was heartened to see Bumblebee's remains did the same, but then reminded himself that it was just an echo. A fragile echo. It had no identity right now, so it had to copy him in order to be real.

"We're going to figure this out, Bee," Sam said hoarsely.

The wind came again,dry and biting, and while the sand whispered it said, _"Sam." _

"That's right! I'm Sam! And you're Bumblebee!" Sam exclaimed, desperate to do anything to get Bumblebee back. "Don't worry, buddy. I'm going to get you back."

The echo solidified even more, its faded yellow brightening, the lines sharpening. _"Sam."_

"I know you're in there, Bumblebee. You're not just some fungus. You're real. I'm not going to let you disappear."

"_I know." _

It might not have been his dream, but Sam dreamed hard enough for the both of them.


	41. To Love III

Whew. Okay. So life is getting a little hectic as I prepare to go back to school in September. I have been accepted at Dalhousie, planning to go into pharmacy, have to pick up a couple of prerequisite classes, and it has been over five years since I have done anything math-related. I think I am vaguely screwed. Plus, I am poor and am desperately working on scholarships. So... my writing has taken second fiddle to everything else. The stories may even end up on hiatus. I don't know yet. I just need to think.

In other news... I dedicate this chapter to two people. The first is a new reader, **Berylium,** who left an utterly brilliant review and inspired me to finish this chapter. The second dedication belongs to **Atsadific**, who helped me to piece together an appropriately horrible way for Psi to completely fuck over one of his favourite bots in the whole wide world. Because, you know, things haven't been dark enough in the story already.

Thank you so much to the reviewers of the last chapter! Thank you **Gamemice, Dazja, Flameshield, CnightJoy, Femme4Jack, shadir, JenEvan, star's dreams, Nikkie2010, Lotte-Bubbles, Haag, Frenzy5150, Bluebird Soaring, Faecat, EmpiralGem21, Phoenix Deathrose, FORD B**, and **Berylium!** There are no words for how much I adore each of you~

**May We Never Let Go  
To Love III**

Starscream struggled to keep his calm as he stared down into the small, beady animal eyes of the human on the view screen of the bridge. Next to the human was another shape that was none too calming, that of the small, red communications commander for the Autobots - a bot who had given the Decepticon forces a headache or two in his time of messing with their communication hubs. Plus, Blaster was just generally annoying.

"So," said the human in that low, animal language he spoke. "It's been a while."

"Yes, it has," Starscream replied with stunning calmness. He fought to hide the seething frustration simmering just below the surface. Of all the humans on the planet to communicate with, it just _had_ to be this one. The only way it could possibly get worse was if they had sent that snivelling little human brat who'd gone running around howling with a pair of silly glasses.

Agent Reginald Simmons propped his hip on the console he stood in front of, the dark iris of his eyes glinting wetly. "You really fucked us over last time you were on this planet."

Starscream's optics narrowed.

Simmons persisted in that same condescending tone. "I recall a certain someone attacking a dam and letting loose a giant metal tyrant to destroy an entire city, and possibly take over the universe."

Blaster did not bother to disguise his snorting laugh.

"That about sums up my last visit," Starscream replied blandly. "Although, I would like to point out that _I_ wasn't the one who let Megatron loose specifically. Frenzy hacked your primitive computers."

"Under _your_ orders."

"Must we really discuss the past right now?"

Simmons thinned his fleshy lips into a tight line, letting his wary gaze travel over Starscream with clear dislike. He then turned to the next bot visible on the bridge, and then the next. When his small, dark eyes landed on the first brightly coloured figure, he did a doubletake. Even to one so primitive as a human, the Autobots and Decepticons had noticeable differences in appearance. Colour choice, for one. The Autobots tended to have a predilection for gaudy colours.

What made them more obvious as outsiders were the bright red faction symbols displayed so proudly on them.

"Who are your friends?" Simmons asked with a jerk of his chin.

Starscream did not know if the Beta Zen Autobots already had English language files, so he inclined his head and made the introductions. "Agent Simmons, this is Ultra Magnus of Beta Zen, leader of the Autobots in that region. His second in command, Kup. And their esteemed colleague, Jetfire."

It was in that last bit that Starscream realized the Autobots understood what he was saying, judging by how Kup snorted over Jetfire's preferential treatment. Starscream made no secret that he valued his old colleague above the questionable company he kept.

"It is an honour to meet you, Agent Simmons," Ultra Magnus said with a slight bow of his head.

"Hold the honour until you get to know him, Magnus," Blaster drawled wryly.

Simmons scowled, seeming to kick the Autobot below the line of the screen. The sound of something solid thumping against metal armour confirmed it.

Ultra Magnus raised in optic ridge, but refrained from making comment.

"Ultra Magnus, was it?" Simmons intoned, nodding to the large bot's intimidating form. "Elita One has mentioned you. She's mentioned many of you, actually. Even Starscream."

To this, Ultra Magnus arched an optic ridge.

Starscream inclined his head, taking the acknowledgement as his due.

"She thinks highly of... most you." Simmons' gaze narrowed on Starscream, lips thinning into a disapproving line. Even if Elita One had words to say about the Neo-Decepticon leader – which, in itself, was a mystifying concept - it was obvious that the human had a higher opinion of dirt than he did of the Decepticons.

Not that anyone could blame the human.

Starscream revved evenly. "I understand that you have a landing site for us?"

"It's the middle of the night, and I just found out less than an hour ago that you rust buckets are above Earth," Simmons said dismissively, as if that meant anything to them.

"And I should care about this?"

A dark brow arched up. "No, I guess not, but humans generally sleep during the night and don't appreciate getting woken up for anything. Blaster's given me the size requirements to land a ship like yours, and a lot of people are going to need to be called in order to get the right zoning passes. If I started calling around now, someone might say _no _to you just to spite me." He paused, tilted his head, then said, "No, wait, not to spite me. Spite_ you_. You're not well liked on this planet."

"The Decepticons?" Ultra Magnus asked.

"No," Simmons snorted, lip curling in a sneer. "All of you. Cybertronians. You've been nothing but bad luck for us."

Kup coughed a rough sound behind his hand. "Is that... gonna be a problem?"

"Yes, obviously, but I'll get you what you need. It'll just take time." Dark eyes looked to the side, staring at something off-screen. The human looked to be contemplating something, weighing options. He straightened the lapels of his dark jacket, and then ran a hand through his slicked back dark hair. "Yeah, I'll have to wait until people aren't sleeping anymore."

Kup nodded, the joints in his neck creaking. "What you're saying is that we're gonna have to wait until it's morning on your side of the planet before you can secure an official landing site?"

"Essentially."

"It'll be a joor or two," Blaster informed. "Night comes and goes on this planet like the breeze."

Simmons shrugged. He liked his time increments just fine, thank you very much.

Starscream levelled a hard stare on Agent Simmons, resisting the urge to sneer. He could see every little twitch on the human's face, noting that the little meat sack was resisting his own urge to bare his teeth – or whatever it was primitive organics did when faced with a much larger, far superior opponent.

Simmons knew when he was out matched. Though he hated throwing in the towel, he decided to be the bigger man – metaphorically speaking – and look away. He patted his pocket to find his smokes, and he quickly lit one without thinking. The stress lines branching from the corners of his eyes eased, though his pupils remained as dilated as they had been since he had appeared on the screen. His fingers were trembling, but only slightly. It took Starscream a moment to pick up on the movement, noting how the human was exerting effort to control the shaking.

Blaster eyed the cigarette with a frown. "You know you can't smoke in here."

Simmons puffed on the little paper-wrapped stick. "Are you in danger of lung cancer?"

"No."

"Then I don't care." He continued to smoke. The trembling in his fingers lessened. "It has been one shit of a night, and I need a smoke." To the screen, the human nailed Starscream with a dark, beady stare. "I blame your kind for all of this. If Megatron had never landed on our planet..."

"That is neither here nor there," Starscream replied.

"You're right, but it still sucks shit. Megatron and all your kind are nothing but a bad case of shitty luck."

It was a strangely morbid and fascinating sight to watch Simmons suck on the smouldering paper, drawing in the poisons Starscream knew were there. He did not need x-ray vision to know how the streams of smoke filled the human's chest cavity, its burning toxins attaching themselves to sensitive receptors. Carcinogens and worse, as if feeding some bizarre desire to gather everything that could kill them into one place so that they could hold death in their hands. Starscream watched as the subtle drugging effects of the cigarette took hold. Was it the nicotine that soothed him, or was it how close death was as he sucked on poison?

Starscream sneered in disgust at how obvious the human's mortality was being displayed.

"Time is of the essence, human. Find a landing place for us soon or we will land wherever the pit we want," he said.

"Yeah, I'll get on that." Simmons turned on his heel and walked away, trailing a thin waft of smoke.

Blaster looked between Starscream and the human's back, and then arched his optic ridges. "I get the feeling you two are going to be best friends."

Starscream glared pure venom. "Yes, like a sitcom duo."

Blaster ignored the sarcasm, just laughing because it was a funny thought. His laughter was shaky, a tiny bit hysterical.

"He mentioned that it was a... 'shit' of a night," Ultra Magnus intoned carefully. "The human appeared rather distressed. Is there something we should know about, Blaster?"

The small microbot quickly sobered from his semi-panicked laughter. He grimaced, looking away from the screen, taking a moment to compose himself once more. "I don't even know where to begin."

"Unicron?" Starscream demanded sharply.

A flat, mirthless laugh burst from Blaster. "With the way things are going downhill lately, Unicron would be an improvement. I'm not the one you should hear any of this from, okay? I'm just the go-between. Talk to Elita One and the others when you get down here." He clacked across the keyboard, keeping his gaze away from them. "You have at least one to two joors to prepare for landing. Use your time wisely to brace yourselves for battle. Things are gonna get weird down here."

"Thank you for the warning," Ultra Magnus said stiffly in a voice that said he was not sure what make of it.

Starscream gritted against the dreaded feeling of foreboding that twisted in his undying spark.

Blaster gave them a vague salute before closing the connection.

The bridge was dim for a moment as the screen closed out and was dark before the image switched to the endless star-spackled vista of their corner of the galaxy the Birds of Paradise was currently squatting in. The lights flickered once before brightening to their full shine, casting a bright glare through the room. Recently polished armour glinted in the light. Glossy new Neo-Decepticon insignia stood out in stark contrast to dark paint jobs, bold and proud.

They looked _almost _respectable.

Hiding any lingering unease, Starscream faced his crew with a lifted chin. His gaze all but dared them to question what happened.

A few bots finally stirred in the quiet corners.

Unbidden, Starscream's gaze travelled to Dead End. The Stunticon had become something of a tool to the Seeker, the kind of tool that made the user uncomfortable to wield and yet helpless not to fall into the power inherent in such an object. It never escaped Starscream's mind that he had a bot in his possession who could see death. _Death_. And now Dead End's every little movement was a morbid fascination of his, as if the downward tilt of the bot's mouth and the deadness of his dull optics would revel secrets of life and death.

Dead End stared at the screen for long moments, canting his head ever so slightly. But then he felt Starscream's gaze on him. He turned, first his head, and then his body slowly following. Down in the depths of his flat red optics, there was nothing but a black hole opening up into nothingness. Dead End might have had a spark, but it was just for show. In truth was, there was nothing inside. The corners of his mouthplates curved up like the arch of a sharpened blade. His armour creaked as he turned on his heel and silently made his way out of the bridge.

Thundercracker and Skywarp looked up with concerned optics, their expressions wary. Their smouldering gazes tracked between Dead End and Starscream, before settling unerringly on their trine mate. Their optics demanded a recap of what had happened. Starscream had not given them English language files, though they had asked for the transfer in order to follow along with the exchange. As much as Starscream trusted his trine mates, he had said no. It had hurt to see them disappointed in his refusal, but he had done so with reason.

From his brief stay on Earth, he had come to many conclusions about the humans, and few of them had reflected in a positive light; if things had gone poorly in the exchange, Starscream had been wary of the idea of having anyone else know of the failure. He did not want any sign of weakness in this critical time.

No matter popular opinion of the warriors under Starscream's command, they were not idiots. Even if they did not understand what had been said, they could fill in the blanks easily enough. The smarter ones would have been running their translation programming at full capacity in attempts to decipher the grunts and animal noises of human language.

Skywarp stepped forward, the light of the blank screen glancing off his dark armour. "So? What's going on?"

"We have to wait," Starscream said, frowning, his optics following Dead End out of the room.

"How long?" Thundercracker pressed.

"Not long," he assured. "Humans are diurnal. We have to wait until dawn rises before that human representative can gain permission from other humans for us to land somewhere."

"They knew we were coming. They should have gained permission before," Thundercracker admonished. "I don't like being in orbit here. Something feels off... There's something here that shouldn't be here."

It was no secret. Everyone aboard the _Birds of Paradise_ could feel some sort of dread force radiating through the hull of the ship. Even as they hid behind the dark side of the moon, there was something lurking in the unseen that seemed to watch them. As if the space between the stars was alive, seeping through the metal of the ship and slowly sinking into their frames like a disease.

"Pipe down," Kup scoffed. "It'll be nothing but a joor or two before we land. In the meantime, shine up your wings or whatever it is you Seekers do to make a good impression. We'll be one Earth soon enough."

The old bot marched from the bridge, no doubt to convene with the Autobots aboard the ship. Ultra Magnus followed soon after, and Jetfire hesitating only moments before leaving with his faction. Those left on the bridge held their allegiance to the Neo-Decepticons.

"I have a bad feeling about this, Starscream," Skywarp said.

"You knew from the beginning that we were coming here to face something unspeakable," Starscream said darkly. "If you are getting scared now, jump ship and fly as fast as you can to the Space Bridge. From here on out, we can not turn back. My course is set. Is yours?."

Skywarp snapped ridged. "I'm not running."

"Then prepare."

Starscream spared no one a glance as he swept from the bridge, tension vibrating his frame. Thundercracker tried to raise a channel between them, but Starscream refused. He had his own preparing to do. He would not say it was fear that drove him, but purpose. Powerful, consuming purpose the likes of which he had not felt for a very long time. He had a feeling his immortality was going to come in handy soon.

He past a dark figure standing to the side in the hall. The figure did not move from the window. Starscream skidded to a halt several steps beyond, and then backtracked to the figure's side.

"Dead End."

"Starscream."

The smile held steady on the mech's faceplate, a morbid twist of his mouthplates that only appeared to blacken his dark armour. His optics remained glued on the star-spackled blackness of space. The longer he smiled, the more Starscream fought the clawing urge to shoot Dead End pointblank in the head. A sneaking fear told him that even in death, the smile might not fade.

"Are you prepared for Earth?" Starscream asked tersely.

"Oh, yes," Dead End murmured, drawing his finger down the cold crystal of the window.

After a wary moment of hesitation, Starscream asked, "Did you see anything while I spoke with that human?"

Dead End flickered his gaze to the side before immediately being drawn back to outside the ship. "I really liked the look of that little roll of paper that human set on fire. It was beautiful. What was it called?"

"A cigarette."

"_Cigarette._ I like the way it sounds. Delicate, like the way it looks."

Of course Dead End thought an object that killed hundreds of thousands of humans a year was beautiful.

"Did you see anything else?" Starscream pressed.

"Like what?"

"You know exactly what I am asking."

There was such a stillness about the Stunticon that he could have been mistaken for a statue. It was made plain by his extended silence that he did not plan to answer Starscream's queries. And if Starscream was honest with himself, he was not sure he wanted to hear what Dead End had to say in this case. Whether or not he could see the death of that little human from this distance did not matter. Humans were fragile and short-lived – one did not need Dead End's gift to know they would all die soon. And as to whatever had possessed Dead End to smile... some mysteries were better left unsolved. But still, Starscream waited there for something to happen.

"What do you see out there?" Dead End suddenly asked, tilting his head toward the window.

Starscream flicked his gaze to the stars laid out before him in familiar patterns. He remembered staring at the same stars not long ago and hating the sight of them. Nothing was changed since his last visit to Earth. Space was still an empty vacuum, the stars still distant pinpricks in the vast darkness. Aside from the unseen dread weighing down on them all, all things were as if Starscream had never left.

As Starscream stared, the endless abyss between the stars stared back. Seemed to wink and smile at him tauntingly.

The stars appeared to ripple, as if a great curtain were billowing, about to be pulled back to reveal a great prize.

A moment later, there was stillness.

"What do _you_ see, Dead End?"

Dead End sighed longingly. "No One."

* * *

As far as banishments went, Psi had suffered worse.

Like the time he had been banished by his brethren to the bowels of the immense Grand Simfur Archive of Recorded Cybertronian History, the largest and most extensive library of all recorded Cybertronian history on the planet. They had put him in the basement. Alone. With only the dust motes for company. It was also the calmest, cleanest, quietest, most _ordered _place on the planet.

In other words, it was Psi's own personal hell.

He had barely made it out alive.

To be banished back to his floating form waiting for him in space was very much like banishing an energy leech to a nuclear power plant. As much as Psi hated to be bound to this floating mausoleum that served as his physical anchor, it was all he had. Truth be told, it had begun to haunt on his conscience that the weaker he grew on Earth, the less likely he would have been able to reintegrate himself. If he faded past a certain point, his spectral manifestation would have lost all cohesion and he would have... faded out.

Sam had done him a _favour_ by kicked his spectral aft all the way back to space.

Now he settled back into the comforts of the massive bulkheads and groaning labyrinths of shifting corridors. As a beast awakening from a long hibernation, Psi stretched his long-dormant armour, rippled the metal and shimmied the glittering crystal windows dotting his sides. Anti-space lay around him like a lover's embrace, though it was a cold lover who cared nothing for him and wanted nothing more than to kick him out of bed. The veil which cloaked him from outside prying eyes rippled as it was wont to when Psi grew restless on the threshold between here and there. Deep, deep down in the places inside of his bowels that he occasionally forgot were there, he heard the haunting echos of undead energy leechs bemoaning their horrible fates. The corridors came alive with the wild shrieks of lightning-born Kremzeeks screaming bloody murder.

Really, it was _good_ to be home. He could count the shadows again, make them dance in praise of his name. While here for a time, he could seek solace in his many captives, tormenting them as he once tormented the living specimens Shockwave had collected. There was nothing quite like tormenting the living, but the undead would do for now.

And he had his other distractions. Deep in his bowels, places that had once been shaped like caverns and cathedrals buried deep within Cybertron, there still laid the empty husks of sacrifices made in his name. There were legion of them, with their darkened sockets for optics and dust in their energon lines. He would cuddle them and coo in their deaf audios, assuring them _daddy was home_.

There was also Unicron who still laid untop his altar, exactly as Psi had left him. The vaulted room was unchanged, the thin air leaving it so not even motes of dust stirred. It was a place where only dead things laid. The room might as well have been the Unmaker's sepulchre. His tomb. Though Psi knew much better than to mourn his master, very much so when his master was far from dead. Unicron still waited upon energy to replenish all that he had spent ripping past the many barriers between here and the Dead Universe.

Energy that was _supposed_ to be replenished by the very creature he had dragged out of that cesspool of a universe.

Psi was not..._overly_ worried.

He could vouch for a _little_ bit of worry. A smidgeon. A microscopic amount. Who wouldn't be just a little wary when dealing with the likes of a Dark God from the Dead Universe? They were the creatures that gods like him talked about in whispers, the monsters that little godlings peeked beneath their beds at night to make sure one wasn't lurking. That slag was almost too hot for even the craziest fraggers to touch, and Psi was easily one of the craziest fraggers out there.

Then again, it was hard to be _completely_ worried about anything when one was completely crazy. That was Psi's excuse for most insane never truly worried about anything except their own concerns. So, really, how could he be concerned about facing a universe's certain doom when he was much more concerned with other thoughts? His godly thoughts, and all his godly secrets. Such as... He knew exactly how many licks it took to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop. He knew exactly the sorts of dirty, nasty things he would do for a Klondike Bar.

When Primus had made him, his essence had been tied to the Maker, and through him he had been tied to the Allspark; though Psi was no longer bound to Primus, it was by his nature as one of the Original 13 Transformers that he knew secrets of the Allspark that no other living being could claim.

He alone knew the full potential of the mightiest tool in all the universe.

But, for now, there was nothing he could do about it.

"_Honey, I'm home!"_ Psi crowed into the echoing empty caverns of his mausoleum of a body.

His only reply was silence. Not that he expected any response from anyone at all. Even the leeches and Kremzeeks quieted down until the lingering echoes of his shrieking announcement faded. Maybe it would have been nice if someone showed him even the littlest of excitement at knowing he was around, but he doubted he would find any of that in this universe. He admitted that it was hard to make friends when you were the evil embodiment of universal chaos and the twisted servant to He Who Devours Worlds, a Dark God in his own right.

It was also hard to make friends when you were nuttier than squirrel shit.

With an airy sigh, Psi mentally flounced over his lack of adoring fans. That was simply the way the world was, he supposed. Perhaps in an alternate universe, Psi was actually nothing more than a quirky evil literary character portrayed in a fictional saga written by an author who, for lack of any real grasp of reality, suffered from deranged delusions of grandeur? And in this alternate universe, there were legions of fangirls who fawned over his character, because in that universe girls loved the bad guys more than the good guys, because bad guys were _obviously_ sexier.

But, alas, this was only a daydream.

In the gloom, he coalesced by his master. Unicron continued his endless sleep uninterrupted. dark spectre shushed out of the shadow, tendrils of shadow snatching at him from the walls and floors. He drifted through the thin air, no more than shadow himself. He realized as he gazed down upon the corpse form of Megatron's former frame that he had been away too long, having forgotten how truly ugly his master looked in that cage. The former Lord Protector had once been a striking mech, but now in death he was a crusty mess of flaking metal and musty stink, empty except for the world devouring god trapped inside.

"You've missed me, haven't you, my master?" he breathed quietly, reverently. No matter the form, Unicron was still his master. Psi's power flowed from the heart of Darkness itself. "Even when all else is mounted against us, I still come back to you. I will always come back to you. I alone am so loyal."

_So loyal. _

Ah, but what worth were such words? He alone was so loyal, because the other option was tendering his resignation and receiving his instant painful death as a severance package. But other than that, the benefits package was _amazing_.

"If only you could see the mess that has become of Earth," Psi said, managing a conversational tone. It was lonely talking to himself, though he did it often enough. He imagined that his master could hear him, and that it was on the tip of the Unmaker's mouthplates to answer.

As the thin air shifted, darkly weighted by the immense presence of the hibernating god, Psi knew that Unicron was still perfectly aware of his surrounding. Though trapped by exhausted reserves of power, Unicron waited as he had while ensconced in Megatron's frame like the Lord Protector lived; he was locked into unsleep much like a zombie was undead. Unicron laid in the fragile place in between, where he was caught as not one thing or the other.

"We unleashed a plague, you and I," Psi mused fondly. "Not our first plague, but a powerful one. Oh, the power." He looked down at the insubstantial shapes that were vaguely his hands, solidifying as his thoughts came to together. "I held the spore in my hands, planted it on Earth to grow and spawn. Now it grows so large that it threatens to consume even us."

Being so close to Unicron, Psi staved off the unfamiliar and unwanted feelings of dread and fear that Nemesis Prime inspired. He was not accustomed to such weaknesses. In fact, he was the one who spawned and nurtured those exact feelings in others. But in the Dark Prime's presence, Psi felt tremblings of unease. He experienced doubt. He wondered if he had made the right decision in cupping the blackened tarrish mass that had been Nemesis's life essence, his godhood translated into a corrupted spark through the power of Unicron's Dark Core, guiding him to his new body.

Perhaps Psi should have crushed him when he had the chance...?

Unicron remained unmoved, and unmoving, a captive audience whether he wanted to be or not.

"Now all gazes are upon Nemesis Prime," whispered the spectre. "The Autobots gaze up with fear in their optics, but all they see is the black, black spark of Nemesis Prime. Even I begin to look like a better alternative to them. They will need me if they ever hope to defeat him. Their arms will have to be open, and they must whisper sweet nothings to me, if they wish for me to help. But I will help, because I must, if I wish for our own plans to come to fruition."

Of course, he might be romanticizing the affair a little more than what the reality of it might reflect...

"But..." Psi wrapped around himself over and over, twisted in an endless knot. Brief discomfit wriggled through him. At first he wished to keep his words at bay, but then they spilled forth like a sinner at confession. "This _sickens_ me, master. How weak I have become because of our games! You lay there as the dead, and I your loyal nursemaid to tend to your corpse! At one time, I had scores of Cybertronians bow down to me. They sacrificed in my name! And now I bow and scrape to them. It is galling and maddening to be placed in such a position. I do this because I must, but know that I do not enjoy this."

After the outburst, Psi felt much better. Nevermind that there was no one save an unsleeping giant to hear him, or care. The expenditure of the words made the distaste less potent inside him. Psi had not always been evil. Long ago, he had been created good and had done many good..._ish_ things. He could _try_ to be good again, for the sake of the End Game. It could very well kill him, but if all played out as if was supposed to... Well, Nemesis Prime would no longer be an issue.

"There now," Psi hushed to the silent corpse, brushing intangible claws down the impassive faceplate. Petting him as he might a creature who required soothing, though it was he himself who was in need of soothing. "All will be well soon."

He wasn't actually sure all would be well _soon_, but it wouldn't be the first time he had ever lied.

From behind him came the sound of a condescending chuckle.

"I was not aware that you were in the habit of lying to yourself," Nemesis Prime observed. "All will be well? In what alternate universe?"

Psi bristled, snarling at the intrusion.

Nemesis stepped closer, punishing the incorporeal spectre with a lash of his power. It was enough to make Psi's thoughts scramble, his form flickering when he could no longer think clear enough to hold himself together. All around, the ship rocked and groaned. Floors bucked and vents hissed.

"I know what you did, Psi," Nemesis stated evenly, menace dripping from every word. "You stole the girl right out from under me."

Sucking his spectral head into himself with such force that it popped out the other side, Psi forced the rest of his manifestation to rearrange itself to face the interloper. He had never done 'innocent' well in his life, but here he tried to affect the basic idea of it. "Girl? What girl?"

"The human girl. Mikaela Banes." Each syllable annunciated with such sharpness they might as well have been diamond blades.

A hand graced the vicinity of his vaguely formed chest, fire sprouting between his fingers, creating the vision of a mildly offended party. "Whaa? Who? _Me?_ Oh dear, was that _your_ human? I didn't see your name on her. You should really make it more clear what humans are your humans."

Ruby optics narrowed into cutting lasers. "I am in no mood to deal with your foolishness."

"Then you really shouldn't be here, because I am always in the mood for foolishness. Always. Always. _Always._" Was that a tremor in his voice? Did that last word crack? Damn it! Even with the security of Unicron looming so close, albeit completely comatose, Psi could not resist the dread tide of unease that slithered through him.

"You do not know how to leave well enough alone, do you? Not even to save your own miserable life," Nemesis mused darkly. "If there is a grave to dig, you throw yourself in it and drag the dirt down on top of you. You would laugh the entire time as you suffocate beneath the grave soil."

Ominous silence stretched on after that. Psi could not even manage nervous laughter, feeling as if lead had formed in the pit of his being and was slowly weighing him down. The coldness he was accustomed to suddenly felt searing. A touch of ice slithered down through his thoughts, freezing him from the inside out. The silence brought to mind his earlier thoughts, considering this room a tomb for his master. But what if he had been wrong? What is Psi's own body became a grave for himself?

Nemesis blew out a soft breath through his vents, white vapour ghosting around his frame. He stood with his back to the crystal windows. Behind him, Earth looked like a gigantic marbled eye. A gigantic glaring eye. Light cast from the planet backlit the Dark Prime, his silhouette appearing to... loosen? He was unfolding at the seams, a small piece of himself slipping free from the cage of his mortal coil. At the epicentre, he remained solid, but in all directions he stretched out as a nightmare superimposed upon reality. A dark spectre blacker than any darkness Psi had ever wallowed in. The form was twisting, writhing, unfurling like spores burst from a tumorous infection.

The light of the Earth behind him was slowly eclipsed.

Though Psi did not breath, he felt his gigantic vents opening wide throughout his ship. He felt the rush of cold run through musty, empty caverns. He felt _fear_ vibrate through his being.

"You're not laughing now, are you?" Nemesis sneered, waving a solid hand and causing the monstrosity surrounding him to ripple. Power jolted through the air, unseen but definitely _felt_. It should have been power Psi was familiar with – the sort that was deep, dark, and a dozen kinds of nasty. His own power was based on something very similar, his link to Unicron weaved through with the nastiest, darkest scum of power to ever be dredged up from the abyss. But this power was the wrong wavelength, the wrong frequency. The power was from the wrong damn universe!

Wildfire razed through Psi's senses. He could hear the snap, crackle, pop of power in the air. A rotten, pungent stick filled the space around him, and he knew it was the stench of his manifestation _burning_. It smelled like garbage on fire, the acrid stench of burning metal, a myriad of other hot, foul odours... and underneath it all, the smell of burning sweetness. A scent he had long thought gone from him, like his goodness.

"_Stop! Stop! Stop!" _Psi screeched. He felt himself twisting and turning, only catching himself deeper. There was no escaping the sudden onslaught. The Dark Prime had him caught tight. Psi's awareness of his surroundings fractured. His connection to his anchoring physical form when numb right along with his connection to reality. Instant disorientation left him flailing, wondering in a deep part of his mind if this is what so many other gods had felt when he had cornered them, tortured them, and laughed while they screamed and begged for mercy.

Nemesis came closer, the look on his handsome faceplate impassive. Almost bored. It was as if the effort it took to snare another god, albeit it a weak one, barely registered. There was a jagged knife in his hand, stained with Hound's energon.

Fear like Psi had never known exploded in his spark. In his mind's optic, he saw the mutilated corpse of Selket, the Egyptian goddess Nemesis had dissected out of curiosity. Pieces of her body had been strewn forgotten in all directions, ripped wide open for the dispassionate gaze of an otherworlder god who just wanted to see how everything fit inside. _That _had been the moment Psi had realized exactly what kind of creature he and his master had unleashed upon the world. Not just some black-sparked creature from a dark plane of existence, but a monster. _A god killer_.

Psi was about to discover exactly what it was like to be taken apart for another's amusement, but he suspected he would not be given the courtesy of dying first. No. Nemesis Prime would keep him alive for a time to _vivisect_ him for his own amusement. Dissect him while he was still alive. While he could still feel. Just so Nemesis could see how everything ticked inside.

Psi shrieked, bursting apart, his consciousness instantly dissipating into the ether.

Nemesis stopped in his tracks, raising an optic ridge "You can dish it out, but you just can't take it. Is that it, Psi?"

Psi stubbornly kept away, hating himself for the way he trembled from aft to stern.

"You and I will have our reckoning, No One. Perhaps not at this very moment, but soon." Nemesis turned to the still form on the altar, his expression shifting into pensive consideration. "Ah, Unicron, the one who brought me into this world." He came closer, peering down in steady curiosity. There was no fear in him. "I wonder if I have properly thanked you yet for that favour?"

The corpse remained unmoved, but the air seemed to thicken with a new tension. Dead, dark optics stared upward unblinkingly, and yet it was as if something behind the optics glared out with searing hatred. Impotent rage filled the room.

"You know exactly what I am, don't you? You knew before you were even foolish enough to cut through to my universe," the Dark Prime murmured, easing even closer to loom high and dark over the unmoving form. "You know what I can do. That is one of the reasons you wanted one of my kind, am I right?"

A dark hand ran down the length of Unicron's frame, from head to hip. A dismissive gesture. Careless.

"You saw what had become of Hastor... of _Bumblebee_... and you wanted the same. A puppet. A pawn. My question is, what made you think you could control something like me? Were you really that arrogant, or did my brother's easy assimilation with the Cybertronians give you the wrong impression of what us Old Ones are like? Because, I assure you, not all of us are so easily caged."

The knife flashed. Metal shrieked. The blade had been aimed for the corpse's chest, poised to plunge true through the empty sparkcase in a symbolic gesture. At the last moment, the altar jerked back. It jerked so suddenly that the metal frame atop it rocked dangerously, threatening to spill over the other side. The knife had missed it target, now embedded in the edge, vibrating from the force of the strike.

Psi hissed something awful, spat the vilest curses he knew. Nemesis could strike out all he wanted at him, but never his master! The floor bucked weakly in his outrage before caving inward beneath the Unmaker's altar. In an instant, the still form was swallowed whole, and the malleable metal of the demon ship closed in over top. Psi made sure to drag his master to his very core, where he would be best protected from the Dark Prime.

Nemesis did not press the issue, stepping back rather than following them down. Red optics cast a dark glow in the empty cavernous room. The dark shadow surrounding him slowly withdrew back into the cage.

"You once called me your pawn, Psi," the dark god mused, the corners of his mouthplates curling up. "You are so insignificant, you are not even on the board anymore."

A moment later, the god was gone the same way he had come.

"We'll see about that," Psi grumbled, but had no time to mull over his dire predicament. He felt a tug inside himself, a familiar niggling one, and he knew things were about to get interesting elsewhere.

* * *

Sunstreaker looked up from the floor when a weight settled next to him on the berth.

"Hey," Barricade said softly.

"Hey," Sunstreamer mumbled back.

They sat briefly in silence. Barricade drew in a deep breath, folding his hands absently in his lap, and then let the air out in a long, slow woosh. Sunstreaker used the blue-stained claw of one hand to pick at the claws of the other. There was dirt under the sharp curves. He could get the dirt out, but never the stains.

"So, Roulette is really...?"

Sunstreaker shuttered his optics tightly, turning his head away. "Yes."

"Oh." Barricade heaved a heavy sigh again, pawing at his chest where his bond with Flamewar ached. He could feel her acutely. It was like she was screaming inside his head, but there was no sound. Just pain. Flamewar had issues with mourning, though had no such contentions with feeling rage over the loss.

"Where's Flamewar?" Sunstreaker asked dully.

"With the others," Barricade replied. "They're all gathered outside to mourn Roulette."

Mourn in their own unique ways. Soundwave would be a silent pillar, and the symbiotes would dutifully follow his example. Drift would be steady and pensive, and Nightbird would withdraw into herself. Flamewar screamed for vengeance.

Sunstreaker opened his optics to stare down at his useless hands where they now hung lifelessly between his legs. "Why aren't you with them?"

Barricade shifted closer so that he could lift a careful arm around Sunstreaker's shoulders. It was a...strangely comforting gesture.

"I had to come check in on the two of you," the minibot murmured.

A humourless smirk lifted the corner of Sunstreaker's mouthplates. "Still using that old Guardian programming of yours? Always have to check in on the younglings to make sure they're alright. "

"Programming like that never really goes away," Barricade sighed. "Mostly, I was just concerned, as any bot would be. Obviously Sideswipe is not going to be okay, and you are a part of him, so..." He trailed off when he saw the dead look in Sunstreaker's optics.

Sunstreaker raised his head to stare at the unmoving frame in front of him, laying so still as to think he was recharging. But Sideswipe was not recharging. Ratchet had strapped him down and Virus had pumped something into him to make him stop struggling. His frame was immobilized, paralyzed, made as impotent as a limp doll. Sideswipe's mind was still perfectly aware, and his spark still screamed with the rage of a thousand burning stars.

"He looks so peaceful," Barricade murmured quietly.

"Don't let that fool you," Sunstreaker countered hoarsely.

Virus suddenly stilled her incessant work on Sideswipe. Though the mech had been settled and repaired to the best of the medics' abilities, the small femme stayed behind even after Ratchet had left. The bots of Carnéval belonged to her, including Sideswipe. Especially Sideswipe, because he was a part of Sunstreaker. Despite Ratchet's warnings to not tweak with red twin's frame, she continued to work as a means of distracting herself from mourning.

Her gaze strayed to Sunstreaker, the longing in her dull red optics making him sick inside.

"I have made him as comfortable as I can," she sighed softly.

"I know."

Barricade watched the unmoving mech for long moments before peering carefully at the brother left behind. "What do you feel from him?"

Sunstreaker didn't even hesitate before he answered, "Pain. A lot of it." He stared at Sideswipe unblinkingly. "He didn't love Roulette, but then again, I don't know if I loved Moonfly when I thought she'd been killed. Didn't stop me from doing a lot of things I regret. I guess this is the same."

Virus's mouthplates parted, a small sound escaping. Her faceplate crumpled into an expression of fresh sorrow before she turned away.

That brief look on her faceplate caused a twinge in Sunstreaker's spark. He'd hurt her, though he didn't mean to. Or maybe he had. Maybe they _had_ loved each other back then, but it had been a twisted love filled with poison. They had always hurt each other in the end.

Sunstreaker focused determinedly on his brother, hearing a ringing in his head that would not cease. He felt his frame vibrating with the sound of it. Though Sideswipe's mouthplates were closed, it was his voice that Sunstreaker could hear. Raging. Spitting. Screaming.

"You can't block it out? The pain, I mean," Barricade wondered.

"No. He's screaming so loudly that I can hardly hear myself think."

Barricade shuttered his optics, shoulders slumping lower.

"I can't make the bond hurt less," Virus said helplessly. "Sunny, I-"

"I know," Sunstreaker croaked. No one could sever a bond. No one could make it hurt less. There was nothing anyone could do in a situation like this. He tried for a reassuring smile, but the joints in his faceplate felt numb. "It's nothing we haven't felt before."

Except, the last time Sunstreaker remembered feeling a pain like this, he had been the one forcing Sideswipe to feel it.

It had been so long since he had felt _this much_ from his brother. Primus, Sunstreaker had forgotten how much it hurt to have something so fragile and integral to himself ripped wide open like a raw wound. It was that disorienting feeling of forgetting where one of them ended and the other began. The rage and sorrow and horror became as fresh as if it were Sunstreaker's own; he suffered the loss and the agony and the burning hatred for the being who had done this. As the madness became his own, he fed it, made it bigger and darker and more powerful, before feeding it back into his brother, only to have it cycle back into his spark for another round.

Sickness and blackness and filth churned inside him like a storm, reminding him of another time when horrible tragedy had given rise to unspeakable abominations. When one little death had been the impetus for a downward spiral that had nearly killed them.

In his mind's optic, Sunstreaker remembered the sounds of the gladiatorial ring being bombed. He felt the heat of the searing explosion. He remembered the look on Ratchet's faceplate when the medic had told him no one by the designation of 'Moonfly' had been recovered from the wreckage. Oh Primus, how he remembered the searing rage for Megatron that had ignited inside him. And then everything had imploded. A yawning black hole had opened up, sucking every last drop of goodness and light out. There had only been hatred after that. Rage. Death.

Sunstreaker had embraced the poison, welcomed it into himself, without caring how far he dragged his brother under with him.

He was not going to let it happen a second time.

He knew if it happened again... there would be no coming back from it.

Slowly, nearly soundlessly, he slipped from the berth. His feet tapped quietly to the floor, his frame weaving ever so slightly as he stood to his full height. A ghost of pain shot up his arm, the neural circuits spasming. He listed to the side, briefly forgetting that he was the twin who still had his arm. Then he remember which twin he was, and stood up straight.

Barricade was on his feet a moment later. "Are you going to join the others outside?"

"No." Those few short steps to the door felt like an eternity.

"Then where?"

"Elsewhere. I don't know. Somewhere to think."

"What about Sideswipe?" Virus demanded. "You can't just leave him. He needs you."

"I'm not leaving him."

She crossed her thin arms over her skinny chest. "It does not look like you are staying, either."

"I just need to think, Virus."

One thought in particular kept repeating through his mind.

A vile, evil, dirty thought that wouldn't go away.

_No One could make it hurt less. _

The door hissed open, the hallway outside seeming lonely and silent. Sunstreaker stepped out, only to be met with a wall of armour. Black and white filled his vision. He looked up into a pair of ice-coloured optics, the shade nearly identical to his own. Prowl stared back at him with a pitying expression.

"Sunstreaker-."

Quickly, the golden mech stepped away from the hand outstretched to him. Without a word, he weaved around Prowl and kept walking down the hall. By the sound of the footsteps behind him, the tactician had decided to follow.

"Sunstreaker, wait. Please." A warm hand graced the back of his arm.

"Not right now, Prowl." Sunstreaker shrugged away again.

Prowl was dogged in his pursuit, eventually catching up. There was concern in his gaze the likes of which Sunstreaker had never seen... at least, not while directed at himself. When it came time to say something, Prowl hesitated. He opened his mouthplates, then closed them. The hand he had reached out to stay Sunstreaker dropped back to his side.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" the tactician asked lamely.

"There nothing anyone here can do for me or Sideswipe," Sunstreaker said hoarsely, pressing onward without looking back. His spark churned in his chest, but now he could not decide if it was Sideswipe's turmoil that inspired the sickness, or his own. When he reached the outside, a shock of cold air whistled through his frame. It made him feel hollow inside, and yet he was full to bursting with things he did not want to feel.

Down he went on a lift, down into the dark hole beneath the earth. He drove the dark streets of the underground city. There were other bots driving the lonely streets. Dots of light peered out from dim windows. The Autobots who had come from around the world at Elita One's summons. They waited tensely down here, not sure what to do, what to say. They were confused, angry, scared. What a bad combination to have trapped in a big, dark hole underground.

Sunstreaker still had a reputation amongst the Autobots. Berserker. Sociopath. Monster. So he was avoided like the plague.

He came to the towering doors that led into the underground section of a hangar. The Cybertronians rarely tread here, avoiding it if they could. The only one who came with a purpose was Wheeljack, though most could not decide if he came because he was an engineer and it was part of his function... or if he came because it was filled with empty, lifeless beings that he could talk to, and maybe, in his madness, they answered back. It was the place where the humans stored their precious bio-interfacial suits – their pathetic attempts to be more like the Cybertronians.

It was a room full of lies... so Sunstreaker figured it was the perfect room for what he had planned.

The lights were off, and only the dim glow of his optics lit the way. Along the walls stood the sparkless shells of the bio-interfacial suits. In the dark, they looked like faceless Cybertronian corpses.

Sunstreaker shuttered his optics, tilted his head back, and let the cool darkness sink into him. His spark hurt only a fraction less now that he put some distance between himself and his other half. Still, the sound of Sideswipe's screaming rang piercingly. Primus, he ached all over as if every joint in his frame had seized.

He wondered how long he would have to wait in the dark.

_Not long. _

Something whispered through the cavern, unseen, nearly silent, moving through the dark like an oil slick. With his optics kept shut tight, Sunstreaker could not see what approached, but he could _feel_ it. An evanescent presence that slithered over his senses, bringing with it a wash of cold, dread, and malignance. Pinpricks of searing cold erupted down the back of Sunstreaker's neck; he did not feel a physical touch, but knew _something_ had just passed over him.

"You called, my pet?" a voice sounded right next to Sunstreaker's audio. It was as reedy as he remembered it, a creaking, ugly voice that broke into high-pitched shrieks like nails down chalkboards. A voice that was horrible to listen to, and yet so compelling when it whispered softly in your audio.

"That was quick," Sunstreaker said, gritting himself against the instant wave of revulsion. "I thought it would take longer for you to get here."

"Not when I can travel at the speed of dark," Psi assured sweetly. "Not when you call to me as you have been. So sad. So desperate. How could I resist?"

Slowly, Sunstreaker lowered his faceplate and cracked open his optics. Blue light glanced off of something slithering through the dark. No defined form, no actual physical mass. But it was there, it was real. There was no shock and awe routine this time, not like there had been that very first time Sunstreaker had seen No One as a youngling. Now, it was just an evil god slinking around in the shadows as a predator circling closer to its prey.

Sunstreaker let the beast circle closer. He couldn't run now.

"No One." Even just the name dripping from his mouthplates sent a lance of fear and anger boiling through his energon.

A delighted sigh in the dark, whispering like a pleasured moan. "I do so have missed the sound of my name on your mouthplates. Call me again, my pet. Whisper my name to me like we're lovers."

"Rust in the pit!" Sunstreaker snapped, jerking away from the sudden feeling of being stroked along his faceplate.

"Still such fire inside of you. Like the fire inside me," Psi praised amusedly, whirling away out of reach. Little sparks of flame flickered in the dark, cold but deadly.

Sunstreaker swallowed against the urge to purge, hands clenching tight until he felt the joints in his fingers seizing. This was the worst idea he had ever had in all his life. And yet... him standing here before The Fallen One highlighted exactly what was wrong with him. Whenever things got tough, Sunstreaker did not turn to the light for help. He would always turn to the dark, embracing it like it was his lover.

Stumbling over numb mouthplates, he managed to croak, "Didn't the Allspark banish you?"

What a stupid thing to say. He mentally cursed himself.

"For a time, he did." There was a brief laugh, a shriek in the dark. "A boon for me, if you could believe that. But Sam isn't in control enough to banish me forever and ever. So here I am, at your service."

The darkness solidified before Sunstreaker. It was darker than the regular darkness, denser as it came alive, and carried with it the stink of stale rot. Two large globes of amber light appeared to float free through the gloom, wandering away from each other before snapping back as if attached to each other by a short leash. No One giggled every time his optics snapped back together.

Sunstreaker saw before him the nightmare that had haunted him since his earliest orns. The thing that had whispered in his audios so sweetly, had scared him so deeply, and yet had beckoned him back into the shadows so sweetly that he could never resist. Like a drug addict, Sunstreaker always went back for more of what he knew best.

"At my service,_" _Sunstreaker repeated flatly.

"Of course, of course. I heard you calling, your prayer for me so sweet," Psi breathed, and the rush of air was putrid.

At this, Sunstreaker did not whether to laugh or curse. "You don't give a frag about me."

"Now_ that_, little Sunny, is where you are wrong. So wrong. Gods who don't give a frag don't stick around as I have. I have always had an optic on you," Psi sang, shivering in his own twisted delight. "Don't you know I am the only god who has ever answered your prayers? I alone have loved you so much as to give you _everything_ you have ever asked for."

"I have _never_ asked for anything from you," Sunstreaker bit out. _Not before tonight, anyways._

A smile opened up in the darkness, wider than the span of Sunstreaker's arms. It was crooked, lined with broken black shards that were backlit by burning hot coals. Heatless black smoke billowed down from between the gigantic teeth.

"Maybe never with words, but if you think sacrificing the sparks of your victims upon the altar of depravity is not enough for you to get my attention, then surely you do not know me." Psi breathed a cold breath that sent smoke and darkness whirling everywhere. "When you prayed for strength, I gave it to you. When you called out for the darkness, I let it fill you. And when you begged for the rage and the hate and the pain to consume you until there was nothing left, I poured it into you like acid and let everything else burn away."

"_No."_ He stumbled a step back, but the darkness advanced on him. _  
_

"You loved every moment of it, opened yourself up wider to receive more. Like a little sponge, you are," the Fallen goaded meanly. "Even if you never named me, you made me your personal god."

Sunstreaker swung around, slashing an arm through the air. "You are not my god!"

"Not by word, but by deed most definitely." Psi's crazed optics swirled with fiery light. "Every kill you made was like a sacrifice in my name. You spilt energon upon my altar and sang my hymns with the screams you dragged from your victims. I wallowed in your worship."

Sunstreaker tried to drag in air, only to find his shuddering vents seized. He felt like he was choking. Drowning. He could still hear Sideswipe screaming in his head, spreading fire throughout his frame.

Psi sang into his audio sweetly, "I think I loved you from the very beginning, you beautiful, horrible half-a-spark."

It took everything Sunstreaker had to lurch away. "I didn't call you here for _this._"

"No, no, of course not. I know what you need and I know what you want. You _want_ to hear this," Psi said gently, rasping the words like a lover whispering sweet nothings. "Secretly, you want someone to tell you how truly horrible you are. Deep down, you know you are as rotten on the inside as you are pretty on the outside. There's nothing inside of you worth saving, so what will it cost if you throw it all away?"

Bile crept up the back of Sunstreaker's throat, threatening to purge across the dirt floor. There was nothing inside of him that could resist the accusations, because each of them was true in their own way. No matter what he did... no matter how much "better" he got, there was still a place in side of him that was sick and twisted and _wrong._

"I hate you," he croaked brokenly.

"_I know,"_ Psi breathed, brushing a cold touch down Sunstreaker's faceplate. "Which makes what you're about to do so very extra sweet for me."

Sunstreaker clenched his fists so tightly that his claws dug into his palms, cracking down to the quick. He thought of Sideswipe. This was for Sideswipe. For them. He had to do this.

"Say the words, little Sunny. Ask me. Go on. I'm waiting," the Fallen gently goaded.

"Make a deal with me," he croaked.

"_Ah_, sweeter words have never been spoken." The power in the room spiked. Oppressiveness layered the dark. Psi's expectant smile widened until it was all Sunstreaker could see.

"This is for Sideswipe. I am only down here because of Sideswipe."

"You and Sideswipe are the same spark, so really, you're only down here for yourself. Your selfish self," No One laughed.

Sunstreaker shuttered his optics, turning his head away. "You... you have the power to make it so Sideswipe won't do something stupid."

"Like what you're doing right now?"

"Are you trying to talk me out of this?"

Wide amber globed blinked quickly, and then the darkness condensed into a vague, small form sitting in midair. A spindly hand motioned eagerly. "Go on. Don't let me get in the way of you doing something so unspeakably stupid. I encourage and endorse this behaviour."

"Don't think I _want _to be here. I hate the idea of asking this from you, but I have to for his sake!" Sunstreaker spat, feeling the need to lay down that line. "Sideswipe is not just my brother. He's my other half. Right now, he's angry and not thinking right... and I'm not making it any better, because I've never been right in the head. I can't help him. Being connected to me only makes his pain worse."

"So what is it you want from me?" No One wondered, sounding gleefully like he already knew.

"Help him, and I will give you whatever you want. Make it so he doesn't make the same mistakes I did. _Please._"

Sunstreaker listened to the silence until, very slowly, the Fallen said, "I don't remember what it's like to love another so much that you would sacrifice anything for them."

Such a strange thing to say.

"I'm weak right now," No One admitted quietly. "I can't just snap my fingers and give you what you want."

"So you can't do this for me."

"I didn't say that," Psi snapped stubbornly. "I just need a full down payment from you first so I have enough power to get the job done."

There was no fear left in Sunstreaker now that he stood at the cusp of the deal. There was only tiredness and hollowness and the ache to do anything to make Sideswipe better. He stared at the undefined form standing in the dark, bright amber optics blazing brilliantly.

"What do you want from me?"

"Something precious, something powerful." Psi considered this, humming a discordant tune as he thought. "If you can love Sideswipe so much as to be willing to give up _anything_ for him, then give me your love. It is the only thing you truly hold dear. I want it. Give me your love."

"My love?" He could hear his voice trembling. At the back of his throat, energon bubbled up, threatening to spill out. His spark stabbed painfully against the inside of his sparkcase with every pulse, as if trying to escape. He knew he was going to go through with this, because he loved Sideswipe so much it made him stupid. "You can do that? You can take...love away?"

"Surely you know me better than that," No One laughed. "That is a very old trick of mine. I started a cult around it, in fact. I miss those orns..." He sighed, and then perked up. "Some orn, if you get the chance, ask Prowl about the _Psi ex Machina_. He'll know what you're talking about." One of those amber optics winked.

With a sour taste linger on his mouthplates, Sunstreaker asked, "Will it... will it hurt?"

"Love always hurts, Sunny." An insubstantial claw traced his jaw. "That's why it is best to never love at all."

Sunstreaker swallowed hard, shoulders shaking. "And if I give you my love?"

"Then what is precious between you and Sideswipe becomes mine. It will become my anchor, so if Nemesis decides to destroy my body up in space, I can still exist apart from it. I will become a part of you, Sunstreaker. Closer to you than you have ever been to another living being. Do you love your brother enough to do this for him?"

"Yes." He drew a shuddering drag of air, the air so cold as it rushed inside his frame that it actually hurt. "He's all I have."

"Then we have ourselves a deal."

And then the Fallen was gone. Just like that, the darkness thinned and the air cleared. Sunstreaker's frame stopped prickling with the excess of energy. He stood alone in the hangar wondering if the transaction had been completed yet, because he did not feel any different. If his love was gone, shouldn't he feel hollow inside?

"Oh," the Fallen intoned as he popped back into the cavern. "I almost forgot!"

A tendril of dark stabbed forward, straight through Sunstreaker's armour and into the core of his spark. Lightning erupted in all directions, so bright that it left jagged afterimages seared into his optics. A scream wrenched through the room, echoing endlessly. Fire raced through his limbs, igniting his energon. It all concentrated on his spark, which felt like it was being drawn right out of his chest.

Unable to take it anymore, Sunstreaker's optics rolled back as he lost consciousness.

What brought him back was the feeling of being jostled. Someone was calling his designation. As Sunstreaker came back online, he became aware of the gaping emptiness inside of himself. A pair of optics hovered over him, cold blue light glaring through the gloom. The optics of a stranger. Sunstreaker did not recognize the optics of the bot who held him. He did not recognize the spark.

"What have you done?" his rescuer said in an oddly flat tone.

Sunstreaker urged on his front lights, illuminating an Autobot with bright red armour and a familiar faceplate. He reached out a hand and cupped the cheek of the stranger, rubbing his thumb to the warm metal. Even under his hand, he felt nothing. No connection. Nothing. The optics that stared down at him were empty and dead, as if the very light of his spark had been stolen.

"Sunstreaker, what have you done?" Sideswipe asked again in that same lifeless voice, his one remaining arm clenching so tight that their armour screeched against each other. "I can't feel you. I can't feel anything."

"Who are you?" Sunstreaker wondered.


	42. To Be Immortal

With the posting of this chapter, I am now officially on vacation. I am off to Halifax, where I will soon be hopping on a plane and heading off to England! Three weeks to spend with my best friend, having adventures and turning her home country upside down! Don't miss me too much. =P

_Hot Rod's brief bastardization of English_: I briefly entertained the notion of turning him into a chav, which is, as I have been told, a breed of subhuman vagabonds who slouch around certain parts of England and are much hated by everyone. I figured, eh, why the hell not? Make Roddy even more hateable. It's fun. The phonetic representation of his accent was done by **Atsadific **(incidentally, the person I am going to go see in England). If anyone requires a 'translation' of what Hot Rod is saying, I will send along some dialogue that is less... convoluted. If the extra effort to understand him makes you hate him more, then I consider my job done. =P

To all the fantastic readers who have been keeping me going with their doses of love, enthusiasm, and encouragement: I might possibly be a little bit in love with each and every one of you. Thank you so much for your kind words and continued support for the story. Thank you to **Gamemice, Dazja, Flameshield, Poiseninja, star's dreams, and Jen Evan, Shadir, CnightJoy, femme4jack, Faecat, Haag, Phoenix51**, and **Berlyium**! You are all fantastic beyond words and I appreciate your attention to my stumble stories.

**May We Never Let Go  
To be Immortal**

Early morning sunlight streamed through the window, warming Sam's face. He laid on his side and stared out the window, listening with half an ear to the soft rasping of his fingers over the cotton sheets. _Rasp, rasp_ as he drew insensible patterns. The sky was greyish blue, and there were clouds in the far distance of a pale smokelike grey. Maybe there would be rain later? Reddish-brown land stretched out underneath the sky, craggy and jagged, dotted with dark browns and scraggly green growth. The perpetually parched visage of the desert.

The familiarity of home, and yet it all felt so very distant. Like it was another world. Like it wasn't _Sam's_ world anymore.

Sam stared out and wondered if this was another dream. He couldn't be sure what was real anymore.

A cool breeze seeped in through the thin crack of the windowsill, caressing over his hot skin. He could barely feel it. The heat he radiated was too much, creating its own kind of breeze. Any relief that could be found in a cool breeze was negated by his own hot aura. Sam was surprised that the air around him did not bend and flex with heatwaves.

His skin felt too tight, dry and crinkling like old parchment. Beneath the crackling husk, he itched like a swarm of insects was crawling and biting through his body. A buzzing in his ears like the activity of ten thousand bees. There was no point in scratching an itch that was not physical, so he didn't bother. A moment of nausea passed over him, dizziness assaulting him in a hard wave. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and lowered his head until his forehead rested deeply in the cradle of the pillow. Power crawled up the back of his throat, threatening to spill out.

"Sam?"

The door creaked open. A woman stood there, her dark hair a cascading waterfall around her face and shoulders. She was beautiful. So beautiful. Too perfect to harm with the horrible power trapped inside his body. Oh gods, so beautiful that it nearly hurt for him to look upon her.

"Are you okay?" Mikaela wondered, giving an involuntary shiver. He could see the hair on her arms standing on end. Blue sparks flickered in the air like fireflies, whirling gently as if caught in some sort of whirlpool. He was at the epicentre of it, curled on his side like an animal in pain.

A groan escaped his lips before words came. He lifted a finger for a spare moment to gather himself, gulping down air in hopes of keeping down what threatened to come up.

Mikaela bit her lip anxiously, shifting as the electric air snapped along her skin. "I heard you...grunting."

Sam huffed, relaxing when control came back into his grasp. Not complete control, but enough to put reins on the hurricane. The air calmed, his body uncurling to its full length. After a time, he managed to say "Sorry."

Mikaela continued to watch him.

He closed his eyes, breathing deep. "Everything is okay now. Just a... passing moment. They come and go."

"They happen more often now, don't they? Those passing moments," she said knowingly, watching him with her sharp eyes like she could see everything inside of him.

"They do, but I won't hurt you. I promise."

"I know. I'm not scared of you, Sam." Her lips curved into a small, shaky smile. Her hands moved nervously, playing with the hem of the same rumpled blouse she had been wearing yesterday. The light in her eyes was dim, careful. She took a cautious step into the room, and Sam could have sworn he felt her heart beating. No, she wasn't _scared_. She just didn't know what to do with him.

"So..."

"So?" Sam prompted, offering a crooked smile that did not quite meet his alien eyes.

"Good morning," Mikaela murmured, her voice husky in the early hours.

"Morning," Sam murmured back, and then cleared his throat. "Did you sleep out there?"

Mikaela looked out into the rest of the apartment, tilting her head. She turned back to Sam with a slightly confused look on her face. That hapless shrug made her look so cute, it made him want to open up his arms and fold her up to his chest. Sam did not dare follow through with the sudden urge. He didn't know if he would burn her.

"I fell asleep at the table," she said in a bemused tone.

Sam pushed himself up, finding that his shirt was gone. His shoes, too. And socks. He didn't remember taking them off. Did he accidentally burn them off in his sleep? If so, he was lucky he didn't set the bed on fire. Was this an Incredible Hulk thing, where he got to keep his pants?

"That couldn't have been comfortable," he commented. "The table... I've fallen asleep at it before- woke up with a crick in my neck."

"I wouldn't know. I woke up on the couch," Mikaela replied with a small laugh. She came closer to the bed, pausing a moment when she felt Sam's heat against her skin. Hesitation, and then she propped her hip on the mattress and sat down. Sam tried to wriggle away without her noticing, only to jerk to a halt when he felt her hand on his. He gasped at the coolness of her skin. So cool, like a splash of fresh water.

"That doesn't... hurt?" he asked, staring at the point where their skin touched.

"What?" Mikaela glanced down, pursed her lips, and then shook her head. "Oh. No. It's... hot, but it doesn't hurt. It's still you, just a little feverish." She swung her legs up, scooting close to Sam's side. She sighed as she eased back against the headboard, her shoulder brushing his, comforted in the embrace of heat wrapping around her. "See? Nothing bad is happening."

Sam raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for something bad to happen. Then he remembered the devil's words, why he always had something bad happening to him: _because you won't let anything good happen to you_. So this time, Sam just accepted the good. He was not going to hurt Mikaela. He settled back against the headboard with his girlfriend, taking relief in her presence.

"How-" His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat. "How did you wake up on the couch if you fell asleep at the table?"

Mikaela's smile was a strange one, somewhere between amused wonderment and absolute disbelief. "You wouldn't believe me, even if I told you."

"You'd be surprised," Sam replied.

Mikaela had no intention of mentioning her nighttime visitors, so instead she asked, "Did you rest well? You were asleep by the time I dropped you on the pillow, and I don't think you moved an inch after that." She brought her knees up and wrapped her arms around her shins. So close, Sam could smell the exotic perfume coming from her. Pungent smells he thought he remembered from a bazaar in Egypt.

"I had a strange dream," Sam admitted, easing back to the headboard and lacing his fingers together in his lap.

"What was it about?"

"I don't really know." It was an honest enough answer.

Mikaela leaned to the side, inching closer to his body. Sam watched her out of the corner of his eye, struck anew by how incredibly beautiful she was. Even with the deep shadows under her eyes and her hair askew, Mikaela was so beautiful it made his heart ache. When she brushed her cheek to his shoulder, the mere touch of her soft skin was a fresh balm. For the first time in what felt like forever, Sam did not feel like he was slowly burning alive from the inside.

She brought her head flush to his shoulder, snuggling into his side. "You've calmed down since last night."

"Huh?" Sam glanced down at himself, and then understood what she meant. Allspark energy. "Oh. Right. Sorry for hurting you last night."

"It didn't hurt," Mikaela replied. "I mean... it _did_ hurt, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle." She paused, taking a deep breath before letting it out and sagging deeper into Sam's body. He lifted his arm and wrapped it around her, cautiously at first and then more securely when she didn't struggle to get away. Sam brushed his lips to her temple, taking in a deep breath of her scent and rubbing his cheek into her hair.

"It hurts you, doesn't it? All that Allspark energy," she murmured.

"It does. It hurts a lot," Sam confirmed, not bothering to lie anymore. There was no need. His secret was out, everyone knew he was on the short list for lifers. It felt good to say something about it so openly, especially to the woman who he never thought he was going to see again. If he was going to have a second chance, he'd make the most of it – no matter how short that chance might be.

"I'm sorry it hurts," she murmured.

Sam sighed, tipping his head back. "For some reason, it doesn't hurt as much with you here."

A light flush of colour appeared across Mikaela's cheeks. Her face turned, her lips brushing his chest over a glowing glyph on his skin. Right above his heart. Her breath was warm and damp. "You're dying."

"Yeah."

Silence, and then she asked, "How long do you have left?"

"Not long."

Mikaela hugged her knees tighter. "Was there any point in me coming back?"

Sam dragged her close, right up into his lap, so he could crush her to his chest. "Of course there was. If not for me, then your family. Chase needs you, Hound needs you. There are so many people here that love you. I love you. So much. I should have told you that before you left."

"I love you, too," Mikaela sighed.

"At least I get to die knowing that you're alright. It killed me inside when I thought Nemesis had killed you." Her hair tickled his nose and cheeks when he buried his face in the dark locks. He resisted the tears that threatened, knowing he'd burn her terribly if he cried. "I... went crazy. Lost control. I don't ever want to feel like that again. "

She leaned away and peered up at him with narrowed eyes. "What did you do?"

His smile was sheepish as he said, "I... freaked out. Mickey, I couldn't lose you. I just couldn't handle it. I let loose so much of the Allspark's energy that any Cybertronian near me was knocked out. I blew out most of the windows on base. Optimus was unconscious for days. I think I might have crashed a satellite, too... or Miles could have been making a joke."

Her sweet honey eyes gazed up at him widely, hope simmering there. "You love me that much?"

Sam suddenly laughed, kissing her on the lips. "Of course I love you that much."

"Then I am flattered that you went crazy when you thought I died." She snuggled into him sweetly, hugging him tight.

Sam laughed again, shaking his head. "You're _flattered_ by that?"

"Well _duh_," she said matter-of-factly. "It's not every day your boyfriend is so traumatized by your death that he unleashes one of the most powerful forces in the universe, accidentally takes out some of the most powerful robotic alien warriors on the planet, and possibly took out a satellite."

"You little psycho," Sam admonished fondly. His smile faded, and his arms tightened around her lithe body. "We never should have fought. It was such a stupid fight! I'm so sorry for all the things I said. I didn't mean any of it, Mikaela. You know I value you as my partner and as a contributor to this war, you just contribute in different ways."

"I'm sorry about the things I said, too," Mikaela sighed. "I was just frustrated and desperate to get you to open up to me. You've been getting more and more distant... and I guess I know why now." She made a low sound in the back of her throat. "You should have talked to me instead of bottling everything up."

"Lesson learned." His right hand stroked up and down her arm, relishing the sweet softness of her body cuddled so close to him. The morning was so quiet. He didn't want it to end. He just wanted to sit on his bed with the woman he loved until the day he died... which, incidentally, could be tomorrow.

Mikaela made a contented noise, shimmying to his touch. She stretched out, urging him to lay with her. They rucked up the sheets, and then cuddled beneath them. Her arms came around his chest, keeping him close. Her cool skin felt nice against the unnatural heat of his fevered flesh. The tips of her fingers traced the glowing glyphs on his skin, making his nerves sing. Being touched had never felt so good. Even when she touched the most wasted places on his body, across his ribs and down his spine where his bones showed through in sharp relief, her touch still felt good.

Her eyes grew wet as she realized the physical extent of what the Allspark was doing to him. But then she told herself that she had already cried, and crying did not solve anything. Sam dying was inevitable, but he did not have to die quietly. Her jaw flexed, teeth gritting in a hard scowl. Anger flashed in her eyes.

"Sam, if you're going to die soon, will you kill Nemesis before you go?"

"Yes," he answered automatically.

Her arms cinched tighter around him. "Make it hurt, okay?"

He hugged her back, and the whirling alien symbols on his body briefly flashed bright. "I will. I promise." _Even if it's the last thing I do. _

"Good. And if you could throw in a cheap shot at The Fallen, I wouldn't argue against it."

Now he glanced down at the top of her head, brow quirked. "He saved your life."

"He's an asshole, and he's evil."

"Noted."

She took in a deep breath, smelling Sam and power and something alien that had no flavour or name. Her skin prickled again, electrified. Her eyes glinted with blue light as she peered up at him. "What about Bumblebee?"

To this, Sam's heart did a weak flip in his chest. He swallowed reflexively, and could have sworn that he tasted the grit of the desert on his tongue. In his mind's eye, he saw a flickering yellow figure standing on a rock in the middle of a lost desert. Something that wasn't truly real waiting for someone powerful to make a dream into reality.

"I'm going to do my best to get him back, Mickey," Sam vowed.

She ducked her head, averting her eyes. "What if you can't? I saw what Nemesis really is." Her body was wracked with a powerful shudder. "You don't know what it's like to be in the dark with him. I was there with him. It- he...Whatever he is... it's _bad_. If Bumblebee is really like that, too. Sam, if Bumblebee is a god..."

"Don't think things like that," Sam chastised. "You know who Bumblebee really is. So what if he was once some evil god thing from another universe? The Bumblebee we know is good and kind and he's part of our family. _That's_ the bot we're fighting to get back."

"Right," Mikaela said after a pause. "We'll get him back." She didn't sound convinced.

They laid quietly in bed for a long time. Though both of them were still exhausted, they stayed awake. Faced with death so recently, and knowing they would be faced again with it again soon, they had no desire to close their eyes. This was no time to waste precious moments in sleep. They could sleep when they were dead.

It was that very thought process that prompted Mikaela into doing what she did next. Untangling her arms from around her boyfriend, she pushed up above him. Her hair tumbled down, tickling her arms and curtaining around them. In the slight shade, Sam's eyes glittered like stars. No whites or irises or pupils, just a pure, jewel-bright blue that drew her in like a moth to a flame. His face was gaunt, the bones of his cheeks and around his eyes standing out. The shadows were deep. All over his skin, the tracery of the Allspark's sigils shone through, whirling and curling with otherworldly grace. These were secrets on Sam's skin, the Allspark's knowledge and power, burning its way through his body.

Sam no longer looked human. He was actually quite frightening to behold. Mikaela's heart flip-flopped in her chest. No matter his looks, he was still _her Sam_.

She cupped his face. His cheeks were hot under her palms. Sam revelled in the coolness of her skin.

"Marry me, Sam," she suddenly said.

He stared up at her like he had suddenly forgotten how to understand English.

Mikaela grinned at him, loving him so much for just being _Sam_. "Just breathe. And say yes."

"What?" Sam croaked, finally remembering English. There was mild panic on his face. Awe. Fear. And trembling hope.

"Marry me, Sam!" Mikaela exclaimed laughingly, shaking him.

"I thought I was supposed to ask you," he said haplessly, head flopping.

"It's the 21st century, Sam. Get with the program," Mikaela laughed, pressing his cheeks fondly. "Marry me. Today. Right now. I don't care. I might not have you for long, but I damn well want to be able to call you my husband for however long I have."

"Okay," Sam agreed. It felt like the only appropriate response.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, definitely okay. I mean _yes_. Yes, I will marry you." He glanced to the side, to the nightstand on his side of the bed. "I had a ring for you. I was going to ask you... soon... maybe. I kept putting it off. And then I thought you died." He paused, and a smile crept onto his face that was dazed and bemused. "And then you asked me to marry you."

Mikaela released his face and scrambled eagerly to the side, jerking open the top drawer and rifling through until she found a little velvet box. The ring inside was just a thin gold band. No diamonds or other stones, no embellishments whatsoever. Nothing that Mikaela could easily lose if she wore the ring while she worked. She held the precious loop of metal between two trembling fingers, turning it around and around until the etched words inside caught her eye.

_Soulmate_.

Just like how Sam used to look before the Allspark had bled through, the ring was plain on the outside. Unextraordinary enough to be easily overlooked. It was on the inside where the most extraordinary qualities were hidden.

A sniffle took her by surprise. She pressed her hand to her mouth, eyes suddenly watering.

"This is beautiful, Sam," she whispered.

He might have blushed, but Sam suspected that it only made him look bluer. His eyes averted to the sheets, and he shrugged haplessly. "You don't think it's tacky?"

"No, I think it's wonderful." She leaned over and kissed him. A heartfelt, trembling kiss. Then she leaned away and stuffed the ring on her finger proudly. It shone in the morning light. "And now it's mine."

Sam grinned, liking the way his ring looked on his girlfri- er, new _fianc__é__'s_ finger. "Good. So it's official. We're engaged." His eyes burned, and then tears welled up, and energon overflowed. In the next moment, he smelled burning cotton and pillow stuffing. "Shit," he cursed, grabbing the pillow and throwing it to the floor. His teardrop burned through the stuffing, setting it aflame and leaving it smouldering. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

"At least you didn't set the bed on fire," Mikaela said, getting up to open a window and dispel the smoke. She paused to hold out her hand and admire her shiny new accessory. When she could finally tear her eyes away, she arched a brow at Sam. "Let's hope you don't cry when we have sex. I know we can scorch the sheets on a good night, but I would prefer not to do it literally."

Sam's head swung around to her like it was on a swivel. "You want to have sex?"

Hands propped on her hips, Mikaela said, "Generally speaking, that's what couples do, Sam."

"With me?" He indicated himself as if that it were a necessary visual aide.

Mikaela's dark brow arched imperiously, her stubborn chin jerking up. "Yes, _you_, Sam. Is this about how you look? Because I don't care how you look. I've never cared. I love you, blue and all."

"But, sex? Like... now?" His voice cracked, and was that mild panic in his tone? It was nice to know that the same old high-strung Sam was in there somewhere.

Her eyes rolled in exasperation. "You are starting to ruin the moment, Sam."

"I know, but this is kind of sudden," Sam reasoned, backing away when his girlfriend advanced. The mattress bounced as she crawled back on. She stretched out her legs so they laid on either side of his, bracketing him in. She sat astride him like she meant to win the rodeo. Her hands came down on his shoulders and held him in place.

Sam really meant to resist. He did. It just did not translate into any noticeable movement in his body.

"You know what's sudden, Sam? Dying. I died, and you're going to die." Mikaela threw her hands up. "Hell, everybody could die tomorrow! Right now, I just want to live a little bit. I want to feel alive _with you_." She kissed him with force, pressing her lips to his until he thought he had memorized every little line of her mouth. Her teeth nipped his bottom lip, tugging gently. Her short, sharp nails scored the back of his neck where she clutched him.

Admitting to himself that he was really interested in _living,_ Sam still took Mikaela by the shoulders and held her at arm's length. Or tried to. He forgot how wriggly she could be when she wanted to be.

"Mikaela. Wait. Listen to me," Sam begged, his eyes crossing when her strong thighs clamped along his flanks and pressed her hot body into his. Wow. Yes. Wait. No, no, he had _Important Things_ to say. Damn it. "Mikaela, think about this," he warned.

"Think about what, Sam?" was the disgruntled reply while Mikaela adjusted her seat astride him. Her fingers traced the lines of his body, bringing cool relief with every touch...and yet setting fires of their own. "I am a little busy here."

Sam gritted back the groan that threatened to escape. His fingers clenched on her thighs. "If my tears are blue, and my blood is blue, what is stopping other things from, you know, _being blue_?"

"What do you mea- _Oh_." Her eyes cut sharply downward, staring at his lap in a mix of horror and morbid curiosity. "That could be a deal breaker."

"Yeah."

She bit her bottom lip. "Wear a condom?"

"Right, because peeling melted latex off my man-parts is something I am really looking forward to."

That particular visual left quite the impression in both their minds. Mikaela caught herself before she laughed out loud, then she caught Sam's eye and burst out laughing anyways. She laughed harder at Sam's increased horror, because he honestly thought she would have been soberly on his side when considering the extreme unpleasantness of having a tube of latex melted and adhered to any part of his body.

Thankfully, Sam found the humour in it a moment later. He laughed, feeling like it had been forever since he had done so.

"So I guess sex is out of the question," Mikaela breathed, wiping at her eyes from the tears of laughter that had welled there. "You know, that really sucks, because I was honestly looking forward to having my way with you."

"Thank god I'm going to die soon, because going the rest of my life without sex would suck," Sam said without thinking.

"Ouch," Mikaela grimaced.

"Sorry," Sam sighed. "Gallows humour is not for everyone."

She smiled weakly. "Everyone's a comedian when they're on death row." Mikaela leaned over and kissed him again, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck to hold him close. It was a sad kiss, a consoling one. The kind of meeting of the mouths that made hearts break rather than make them beat faster. Mikaela was doing her best to keep her sorrow and fear for the future at bay, but Sam felt it like energy currents in the air.

He wanted to take that fear and sorrow away, even if it was only for a moment.

"Hey, I have an idea," Sam murmured, a shaky smile appearing on his chapped lips. He carefully unwrapped Mikaela's hand from around his neck, holding it between his own. Unable to help himself, he kissed her knuckles, eliciting a soft laugh. Sam's sudden excitement summoned a small welling of power to _snap, crackle, pop_ inside him like tiny fireworks.

"What kind of idea?" Mikaela wondered, noting the changes in her boyfriend. It was entrancing to watch him power up.

"I can marry us right here, right now." Excitement bubbled up higher, lifting his smile.

"How?" Mikaela laughed, Sam's excitement catching. She scooted closer on the bed until their knees bumped, and Sam's glow touched her skin like a soft caress. "Did you become an ordained priest while I was gone?"

"I'm the most powerful living being in the universe right now. I think I can do anything... within reason," Sam replied, lifting one hand to stare down at the flashing blue patterns across his palm. "It won't be a traditional wedding. No white dress or a church. I don't even know if it will work-."

"Do it," Mikaela said, waving away all the things that meant nothing to her. She would have liked to have had a dress and a church and all the other typical wedding things, but they were all easily sacrificed in the face of having a chance to be with Sam. Just a single day would be worth it. "Marry us right here, right now, if you can."

"Hold on tight," he said, grinning. "I have no idea what kind of ride this is going to be."

Sam clenched his hands tight until the heat was nearly burning. He closed his eyes, the light behind the lids so bright that his veins stood out like black snakes slithering beneath his skin. His chest expanded on a deep breath, the sigils on his body appearing to breathe with him. The reins on the hurricane loosened. Sam felt himself growing outward, power expanding through the air in a rush. He felt the molecules of the air and the vibration of energy along his skin. Where his hand connected with Mikaela's, he felt himself falling into her. With a moment of concentration, he was flowing through her blood, filling her body, feeling the tingling of her nerve ending, and electricity of her thoughts and essence.

At her gasp, his eyes snapped open. She was lit up as he was, alive with alien inscriptions. Like a circuit being completed, the bright lines on Sam's hands had bled over to Mikaela's, swirling up her arms, across her body. She became part of the power flow.

"S-Sam?"

"Shhh, it's okay." He tugged her close, so they shared their breaths. Their fingers entwined tightly, laced with miniature strings of blue lightening. The hair on their arms stood up. Mikaela's heart raced so strongly that its beat seemed to boom in the room, ricocheting off the walls. What laid in Sam's chest did not beat so much as it pulsed, sending out rings of rippling power. Somehow, the shadows came to life. They were dancing, watching what was happening.

The air thinned, and reality became like a curtain being pulled back.

For the of briefest moments, Sam's lungs were filled with the strange, flavourless sweetness he only tasted in his dreams. From the corners of his eyes, he saw the air ripple. As if from a great distance, he heard his name being called. So many voices beckoning to him, familiar to him in only the way a memory of a past life could be. The Allspark inside of him surged in awareness. Sam saw amber gazes watching him, as distant as the stars but so much older.

_'Sam,'_ they whispered, beckoning as they had done for years.

_'Not yet,'_ he murmured back.

And then they were gone.

It was just him and Mikaela in the room.

Reality snapped back into focus, somehow sharper and more real than either of them had ever seen it.

Sam brought Mikaela close so that their chests touched. His lips brushed hers in a ghost of a kiss. Lightning seared between their mouths.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice sounding like it was not his own.

"Ready," Mikaela breathed in amazement.

It took Sam a moment to find the right words to say. The right words were important, to make what came next worth it.

"I, Samuel James Witwicky, ambassador of Earth and Vessel of the Allspark, give what is left of my soul to you, Mikaela Isadora Banes."

Mikaela's eyes shot wide, lips parting on a gasp. Her red, red blood suddenly soaked the front of her shirt. The skin that touched Sam's was burning away at the point of contact. She didn't cry out, even when the smell of burnt flesh seared her nostrils. Pressure pushed in on her sternum, like that of a blunt needle trying to find its way in through her bones. Instead of shrieking, she gritted her teeth and met his eyes stubbornly. Light flew between them, flashes of pure lightning.

"I, Mikaela Isadora Banes, um... a mechanic of Earth, give all my love and all my soul to you, Samuel James Witwicky."

Sam grunted when the thin, sallow skin on his sternum burned inward. There was hardly any muscle left, and if either of them looked down they would have seen bone. Blue energon overflowed, yet failed to ignite. It evaporated into the air, becoming incandescent mist. Both he and his very human wife-to-be breathed it in, let it fill their lungs, feeling the zing of pure energy lance through their nerves.

"With the power vested in me by the most powerful artefact in the universe, I now pronounce us husband and wife." He grinned at her, and even his teeth were glowing. "You may now kiss the husband."

Mikaela threw herself at him, taking him to the mattress with a cry of joy. Their lips clashed with fervent emotion. It was not just the flavours of their mouths they tasted. It was the pure essence of each other. Evanescent, powerful, and full of love. Their eyes slid shut, revelling in their first kiss as husband and wife. Mikaela held him so tight that her nails cut into his skin, would leave bruises behind. Sam held her just as tightly, crushing her in his arms.

When they could bear to be parted, they did so with delighted gasps.

Mikaela tilted her face back to the ceiling, her appearance returned to its very human visage. Her eyes squeezed shut tightly, the look on her face could only be described as ecstasy. "Sam, I can still feel you."

Sam scrambled to regain his wits. He didn't feel exhausted from pulling a stunt like that, even though he should be reeling from it. Instead, he felt blissfully energized. He felt better than he had in ages.

"I can feel you, too," he managed to mumble through clumsy lips, his brain still dazzled.

They lay together for stunned seconds. With the retreat of his power, Sam's skin healed over without a mark. Mikaela was not so gifted. Her blood still flowed from the open wound between her breasts, slowly running down to her abdomen, soaking into her blouse. Now that Sam could see it clearly, the laceration looked like a little star burst. Maybe it was his eyes playing tricks on him, but in the centre of the bloody wound, a pinpoint of light glowed star-bright blue. Clotted blood hid it a moment later.

"Did you just do what I think you just did?" Mikaela asked breathlessly.

"Yeah, I think I did," Sam replied, stunned that it had worked.

* * *

"So," Hot Rod intoned a touch too loudly in the tense silence of the hangar, "Optimus Prime is going to be down there?"

A few faceplates grimaced at the mentioning of the Prime. Too long of being at war with the Autobots had trained many Decepticons with an ingrained dislike for Optimus. Though they claimed to be Neo-Decepticons now, hardly enough time had passed since they had hated the Prime on principle. Their loyalty to Megatron long eroded, many simply had festering wounds of resentment toward the Prime for allowing the war to happen in the first place, for allowing it to go on so long.

Much to some Autobots' shame, they too felt a telltale pang of reluctance in their sparks. Despite shame, they could not shake their lingering resentment over how easily their Prime had abandoned them for the Allspark so long ago. They knew all the reasons, all the excuses, but they had lived the reality of the downward spiral of the war after Optimus had left. It was hard not to feel burned.

Hot Rod did not cue in on the shifting atmosphere. As always, he was absorbed in his own thoughts, easily claiming title of 'The Least Affected Bot of the War' seemingly because trauma flowed out as easily as it flowed in. To him, unknown adventure was looming on the horizon, and the great Optimus Prime was waiting for them down on Earth.

A tall, dark figure stepped out from the crowd and faced Hot Rod with his chin lifted, chest out.

"Yeah, Optimus-fragging-Prime is going to be down there. You planning on getting his autograph?" Wildrider sneered, backed up by the sneers of most of his gestalt team.

Dead End did not sneer. He stared at the looming hangar doors with something akin to tightly reined excitement glittering in his gaze.

Hot Rod immediately bristled, the sound of his engine revving pinging off the cavernous walls. A hand clamped around his mouthplates before words had a chance to escape.

"Let's hope he has Ironhide with him, and Ironhide gives you a _proper welcoming_," Springer shot back with a sneer of his own, yanking Hot Rod back into the safety of his shadow. He and his Wreckers were allowed to give the impetuous little lugnut a hard time, but no one else. _Especially_ not Decepticons.

"That old rust bucket?" Breakdown laughed meanly. "He's so old, I bet he couldn't hit the broadside of this ship- _Ow_!"

A small bolt pinged violently off the side of the Stunticon's head, skipped several times along the floor, before rolling out of sight in the forest of shifting legs. Kup lowered his throwing arm back to his side and gave a haughty rev of his engine.

"What was that about old rust buckets hitting the broadside of things?" he asked.

Motormaster rolled his optics and reached out to cuff his fellow teammate upside the head. Breakdown cursed, but quickly subsided under the hard stare of the much larger mech. As much as Motormaster normally would have looked forward to a fight, and it would have been a mass brawl if a fight broke out in this enclosed space with so many bots on edge, he was in no mood for one now. To the old Autobot, he inclined his head. "Better?"

Kup shrugged. "It works."

Above them, the ship's comm system crackled to life. Autobot and Neo-Decepticon alike rolled their optics as they anticipated the high-pitched drawl of the Neo-Decepticon commander.

"There are cameras in there," Starscream's voice announced imperiously, "and I can see you."

"Good for you!" someone shouted pugnaciously, his identity shielded by so many bots. Laughter rang off the walls.

Starscream cut in before anyone else had the bright idea to start a shouting match.

"We need to present a united front, a powerful force in the face of the Prime and whatever else is waiting for us on the planet," the Seeker urged, clearly speaking through gritted mouthplates. "So stop your ridiculous bickering! We are about to land, and if any one of you embarrass me, so help me, _I will hurt you_."

The comm snapped off before anyone else could come up with a genius retort.

Hot Rod swung out from behind Springer and pointed at the Stunticons. "I bet he was talking to you."

That was, of course, the only catalyst anyone needed to start a ruckus.

By the time the _Birds of Paradise_'s landing struts touched down, there was very little to be heard over the shrieks and shouting that rang off the walls. Nevermind the groaning struts that had not touched solid ground in far too long, or the bulkheads that shifted ominously as they became reacquainted with planetary gravity; the rocking of the ship as it positioned itself only seemed to aggravate the roiling mass of bots whose collective maturity had apparently regressed several eons.

Starscream entered the hangar alongside his trine, his two advisory companions Acid Storm and Sunstorm, followed closely by Jetfire and Ultra Magnus. The cameras had not done the scene justice.

"Oh my Primus," Sunstorm breathed, more exasperated than shocked.

"Oh, yeah, because Primus has anything to do with this," Acid Storm snorted.

Starscream felt heat crawl up the back of his neck, one part frustration and one part embarrassment. He sent a furtive glance toward Ultra Magnus, wary of what the Autobot might think of the devolvement. Luckily, he appeared as chagrined as Starscream over the absolute lack of discipline their people possessed.

Amidst the studied absence of order, the loudest members of the Stunticons were shouting abuse at the loudest members of the Wreckers. Neo-Decepticons and Autobots were alternately holding them back and egging them on. Warnings not to fight were screamed on top of urgings to start a faction rumble.

The Seekers in the crowd, those who easily stood the tallest, were on top of the rowdiest of the crowd, their loyalties clearly in Starscream's favour, doing their best to inspire calm through violence. Smaller Autobots, those who remembered what 'respectability' meant and recalled that they were about to meet the Prime after eons of separation, grabbed members of their faction and shook them until sense rattled back into empty craniums.

Aside from alternately restraining and urging the Stunticons and Wreckers to be at each other's throats, the others left them to their own devices – as much entertainment for the rest of them as they were a release for all the built-up tension.

Not far from the epicentre was Hot Rod on the ground, being sat upon by Kup, who was unsuccessfully trying to bridle the bratling's mouthplates. Between the old bot's muffling fingers, Hot Rod shouted incendiary challenges. His brightly painted arms flailed wildly, gesturing rudely to anyone who would look at him.

After taking a moment to stare at the ignorant bratling, Starscream then turned to Jetfire. "For the life of me, I cannot see why you defected from my side to yours. Certainly not for the intelligence."

Jetfire inclined his head, humour overtaking his brief dismay. "My friend, I would not want to quibble about the intelligence at this moment. There does not seem enough in the room to claim much for either faction."

Starscream surprised himself with a laugh, but then blinked when the air shifted at his side and he suddenly realized there was a short Stunticon standing at his shoulder. He suppressed the shudder that rose up immediately. Dead End blinked up at him, his stare as intense as it always was when he gazed upon the undying leader of the Neo-Decepticons.

"It's not their fault," Dead End said vaguely, barely able to be heard above the noise. "It's been a while since any of us have been so near Him. Some bots are more susceptible to the touch than others."

He wandered away directly after, wading through the madness as if in a storm that did not touch him. The seas of mauling frames parted for him unconsciously, never looking his way and yet severing away so as never to touch him. A wave of shouting, punching, kicking bots swelled and crashed, causing the dark little omen to disappear into the chaos.

Skywarp audibly shuddered, rubbing his hands to his arms as if cold. He kicked Starscream in the shin. "He's your pet. What did he mean?"

"He's not my pet, and I don't know," Starscream replied, shoving his trine mate away before he could be kicked again. "Sunstorm, do you have an idea? You are the scholar in matters of... unusual circumstances."

It was then that they noticed how shaken Sunstorm suddenly appeared, his blue optics paled to nearly ice white. "Oh," breathed the golden Seeker, more to himself than anyone. "I hadn't thought of that..." Without conscious direction, his hands delved into his subspace pocket and withdrew a small, beaten rectangle of metal, its markings worn away from vorns of attention.

Acid Storm noted the appearance of the charm, aware of its meaning. Its appearance did not bode well.

Starscream drew a step out of the hangar, more concerned with his fellow Seeker than with the unruliness of everyone else. "Sunstorm, what is it?"

"I never imagined... Primus, you can actually _feel_ it if you try looking for it..." Sunstorm's thumb turned absent circles on the old charm. As if reciting an old verse from memory, he murmured, "We fly in the shadow of the Unmaker, and in His shadow dwells the Bringer of Chaos."

"Bringer of Chaos?" Skywarp wondered.

"The Fallen," Ultra Magnus intoned gravely. "Is this a trap? Has he possessed one of us and caused this to happen?"

"No, no, not a trap. Not a purposeful one, anyways." Sunstorm sighed, giving himself a good shake. "We have been away from the font of poison for a long time, so perhaps the effect is stronger for our absence, but _this_-," he gestured to the continuing brawl, "is what the effect of the Fallen has on us just being near. I've read old accounts claiming The Fallen spreads madness wherever he goes. I always assumed that meant he simply drove Cybertronians mad by personal contact, but what if he _radiates _chaos, able to infect by mere proximity..."

"I am inclined to believe the theory, since the evidence is fairly screaming it," Jetfire said.

"There is merit to it," Acid Storm agreed carefully. "A personally generated psychometric field would be enough to induce such behaviours. Although, I would caution against immediately assuming supernatural origin, despite whatever Dead End says. We stuck a bunch of high-strung warriors from two warring factions in an enclosed space and expected them to get along. I say our expectations were too high."

Starscream's faceplate hardened. "We're not about to be defeated when we haven't even set foot on proper soil, not by supernatural means and I refuse to be brought down by our own foolishness." He turned to Thundercracker. "How rusty do you think your psychometric field generator is?"

Catching on to his meaning quickly, Thundercracker gave a curt shrug. "Bit rusty. There's a lot of them out there, but they're distracted, so they won't be able to guard against it." He paused, a bit sheepish. "I'll have to sit down afterwards."

"Whatever you need, just do it." To the rest, Starscream ushered them back into the hall. "This will be over soon enough." The door closed behind them just as Thundercracker was transforming into his alt mode, the melody of it lost beneath the tide.

Ultra Magnus regarded Starscream grimly, recalling one of Thundercracker's more devastating abilities. Though he was a brutal fighter in hand-to-hand combat, it was his psychological attacks that had made him a terrifying force; equipped with a psychometric field generator, Thundercracker was capable of inducing debilitating fear in anyone unlucky enough to get caught in the field.

"Using fear to rule, Starscream? That sounds an awful lot like your predecessor," said the Autobot commander.

"Megatron's mistake was in its application. Too much, and you're a tyrant. Too little, and you are Optimus Prime."

Only the Seekers snickered at that one.

Through the reinforced door, there came the thunderous boom of Thundercracker's namesake – enough to startle combatants apart and make them vulnerable to the next stage of attack. The metal protected those in the hall from the brunt of the psychometric field, though not all of its affects. Their minds raced, seemingly for no reason, and their sparks picked up at an odd tempo. Nothing compared to the unfortunate creatures in the line of direct fire.

A moment later, the frisson in the air dissipated. There came the melodious sound of Cybertronian transformation. The door hissed open, and Thundercracker stood there with his hand braced on the wall. He weaved slightly on his feet, clearly woozy.

"There," he said hoarsely, motioning to the now quiet hangar. "Got everyone's attention."

Skywarp rushed forward to catch his brother before he fell flat on his faceplate.

Starscream clapped Thundercracker on the shoulder gratefully. "I can always count on you for a job well done."

Perhaps too well done, as it now appeared that every Cybertronian present was thoroughly and unspeakably traumatized. Mouthplates agog, optics staring blanking, the scene was nothing but a jumble of frames belonging to a collection of disturbingly comatose creatures.

But, at least they weren't fighting.

"Optimus is wondering what the hold up is," Ultra Magnus intoned, hand to the side of his head. "I imagine that they are wary of an attack."

"Assure them that we are only getting ourselves together," Starscream replied, crouching down to take select bots by the scruff and shake them until their faculties returned.

Unsurprisingly, Hot Rod was the first to shake off the trauma. He sat up and looked around, optics goggling at the seeming devastation. "_Whoa_," he breathed. "What happened? Did anyone else hear a really loud boom? Like, it was right in the room. Was I the only one who heard it?" He steadied his head with his hands. "I don't think I remember anything after that. Are we still on Earth?"

"Would you mute it!?" snapped Wildrider, seeming to snap from his vegetative state simply to yell at the other bot.

Soon after, all of the downed warriors were able to gather their wits and make themselves presentable. At long last, the hangar doors were opened and their ramp lowered. Earth's atmosphere rushed in with a vengeance, washing over them refreshingly. Sunlight poured in, shockingly bright and rich compared to the stark utilitarian whiteness of artificial lighting; warmth came with it, and the exotic scents of an organic planet.

From outside, a gravelled voice boomed, "Quit preening! We don't got all orn!"

Hot Rod aimed a triumphant grin in Wildrider's direction. "Ha! Looks like Prime brought Ironhide!"

Starscream crossed his optics. "It was too much to ask for a dignified entrance, wasn't it?"

"You are with the wrong group of bots if you wanted that," Ultra Magnus said, gesturing to the open hatch. "Come, they're waiting for us."

Upon reaching the verge, Starscream blinked at the bright glare of the open sky until his optics adjusted. A moving shadow at his shoulder informed him that Dead End was waiting at the verge, squinting into the bright morning light with a look of distaste wrinkling his faceplate. Without a word, he backed off. Creature of darkness that he was, he would wait for his time to come out.

"Hey! Hey! Wait for me!" Hot Rod crowed, jogging up to be a part of the small group, despite being completely uninvited. Starscream followed Ultra Magnus's example of bracing himself for the upstart's company but otherwise ignoring him. Acid Storm brushed against his commander's side, leaning up with an arch look.

"There's plenty of room on this planet for _accidents _to happen," he muttered. "Poisoned energon, for one."

"No accidents, orchestrated or otherwise," Starscream hissed back, keeping his gaze dead ahead on the waiting Autobots on the ground. He jolted forward when Hot Rod tripped and hit him in the back.

"Sorry! Sorry!" the Autobot said cheerfully, failing to recommend any of the proper respect he should have shown to a superior mech. Indeed, ever since Starscream had vouched to keep him on the ship rather than cart him straight back to Beta Zen, Hot Rod had gotten it into his head that the Seeker must have liked him in some fashion.

Growling, Starscream straightened his stance and walked faster to be out of reach of the menace. "Acid Storm."

"Yes, commander?"

"Keep your poisons on hand."

"Of course." Acid Storm smirked, backing off to be a part of the flanking Seekers who followed their commander down the ramp. He, Sunstorm, Thundercracker, and Skywarp were as impressive as always. The Autobots, appearing lacking with only Ultra Magus and Jetfire coming out, hardly compared.

Optimus Prime awaited them directly. A small party of Autobots had accompanied him, all of them distinguished in the Autobot army. Ironhide looked the same as ever, a titanic mech wider than he was tall; his arms were transformed into the threatening forms of his canons, the barrels already glowing with plasma. The expression on the old bot's face rivalled that of black storm clouds. Not far from him was his sparkmate, the disturbingly vicious Chromia. She clearly stood guard over Elita One, angled so that her shoulder stuck over in front of the smaller femme and that most of her armoured frame covered the Prime's sparkmate. Her flame blue optics promised hurt to anyone who dared step out of line with the Prime's sparkmate.

Starscream's gaze flickered over the rose-plated creature, that elusive and enigmatic Elita One, catching her optic and keeping it for longer than necessary. Her gaze was familiar, in that it was as shrewd as he recalled it to be in the past. She inclined her head, and he did so in return.

"Took ya long enough. Trouble in _Paradise, _Screamer_?_" teased an accented voice, prompting the Seekers to search for the source.

Starscream found the speaker lurking at the side of the ramp, propped near the bottom. Silver armour glinted in the play of light and shadow, the form familiar despite its adjustments to accommodate Earth. The flared horns were ever the same, as was the crystal visor – though it was dark and foreboding rather than the usual bright, rich blue that Starscream remembered. That smirking expression was one that few could ever forget. Once a Decepticon, Jazz had been the bane of Starscream's existence for all the power the saboteur had commanded seemingly effortlessly; conversely, the moment he had defected into the Autobot ranks, Starscream had liked him much more, because his departure had left a power vacuum he had been happy to fill.

Looking at him now, all Starscream could see was the two dead halves of the silver minibot flung far apart by Megatron's hand. A supposed-to-be-dead mech, much like himself.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," Starscream replied a tad too late to be completely suave, subtly scuffing dirt at the saboteur as he passed.

"Let's best discuss those matters when we are all settled," Ultra Magnus suggested magnanimously, opening his arms wide to his old friend awaiting him.

Optimus was equally eager and informal, mirroring Ultra Magnus's gesture. They wrapped their arms around each other in a tight embrace. They laughed warmly, whaling welcoming slaps upon each other's backs.

"It has been too long, Optimus," Ultra Magnus said, backing away so that it was only the Prime's forearm that he grasped.

"That is entirely my fault, I suspect," Optimus replied. "I have been away for too long, and this planet inadvertently became my home."

"I can see the appeal, I think," Ultra Magnus replied, casting a curious glance around. Their surroundings were not lush and green, nor were they dry and brown. It was a moderate mix of both, where the fields of an alpaca and llama farmer met with the government owned swaths of desert. The sky was blue, and the horizon hinted at craggy shapes in the distance. Not the most attractive introduction to the planet, though not the worst. It was quiet, though, and the novelty of being on an organic planet where everything was _so small_ was intriguing.

Jetfire was looking to the sky with an eager optic, as were the other Seekers standing in formation with him.

"The skies look nice," he commented.

"_Really_ nice," Skywarp added longingly.

Optimus cast them a warm smile. To his credit, it did not look forced. "You are welcome to go for a flight after this meeting of ours is done and the most pertinent matters settled."

The Seekers could not disguise their eagerness for a chance to stretch their wings.

All became aware of a low, animal grunting noise coming from somewhere of the vicinity of their feet. Looking down around their ankles, a human in a dark suit was standing there, one hand on his hip and the other making pointed gestures to the pushing match happening at the top of the ship's ramp, bots squabbling to be the first to get out. The more that bots pushed and shoved, the more the short human grunted and squawked.

Optimus expertly switched to English for the human. "Everything is alright, Agent Simmons."

"There's got to be several dozen of them in there!" Agent Simmons griped, his cheeks flushed beneath their tan. "Probably all armed to the hilt, with bad attitudes to match! I should have upped security in the area." He whipped out a walkie talkie attached at his belt and began muttering orders into it. Once done, he aimed a beady-eyed glare up at Starscream, who in return felt the urge to step on the tiny man. "I got my eye on you, NBE."

"I can use acronyms too," Starscream sneered. "SOB."

Hot Rod perked up, his optics flashing in delight. "Whoa! The World Wide Web is full uv stuff!" His exclamation was in imperfect English, marked with a distinct lower-class accent. "Humans sure like videos of domesticay-ed feline compan-yans!"

One dark brow winged up sharply on Simmons' face. "Great, so he's British white trash?" To himself, he muttered, "I can't decide if that's better or worse than the Pontiac that thinks it's a black guy."

"There is also a lot of... copulating on the World Wide Web," Thundercracker intoned in disgust, likewise in English, though of a more centralized American accent. His voice was deep and booming like a roll of thunder.

"Ya learn ta filter that out," Jazz snorted, pushing away from the ramp. "And Ah heard that crack on mah accent, Simmons."

"And what are you going to do about it?" Simmons snorted, his expression so pinched that he appeared constipated. "Look, for your sanity and mine, all of you can stay the hell off the internet. None of that shit is for you. There is sensitive information on there, and I don't trust a single one of you to stay out of it. For that matter, I don't _like_ a single one of you."

Thundercracker crouched, his massive frame looming threateningly over the human. "You are annoying."

Agent Simmons jerked his chin up, not an ounce of fear showing. "You are a guest on this planet." His beady stare narrowed to dark slits. "I let you land only because Elita One vouched for your leader, who, by the way, looks like a kindergartener fingerpainted all over him."

Starscream immediately bristled, gridding himself against saying some very choice words to the meat monkey.

Hot Rod did not possess the tact to keep his mouthplates shut. He immediately consulted the reference, pointing and laughing. "It's true, bruv! Yuh look like you were fingah-pain-id!"

Elita One hid her laughter. No one else did.

Optimus quickly cut in before _someone_ forgot themselves and squished Agent Simmons. As much as any Cybertronian daydreamed about doing it, the reality would have caused too many problems. Least of which, Elita One would have been upset to lose her friend. Optimus motioned to Starscream, politely – if awkwardly – inviting him into his close circle for a brief welcoming exchange. The importance of their presence on Earth prompted Starscream to drop his ire in order to deal with the Prime. The formality of the matter had Starscream's trine closing in, not wanting to embarrass their brother with their poor manners.

Simmons huffed, straightened his jacket jerkily, and marched off.

More Autobots and Neo-Decepticons came down the ramp, spreading out steadily in all directions. The majority were wary, but some were trusting enough to simply be curious of their new surroundings. They humoured Simmons as he came around reading them the riot act, warning each and every single one of them that _he was the law_ and if he heard of any one of bothering the locals, he would evict them from the planet. It was a cute sentiment coming from a creature no taller than some of their ankles.

After Simmons would pass on to the next unlucky collection of Cybertronians, those who had already suffered his company sat down – in either their bipedal or alt mode – and basked in the bright, hot morning sun that beamed down cheerily from above. It had been so long since many of them had been on an actual planet, even one that was thusly under seige as Earth allegedly was, that they could not help feel relief to have solid ground beneath their feet. Genuine sunlight felt good on their armour, and the receptors on their outer armour still receptive to solar radiation for energy activated eagerly to absorb the free energy in abundance.

Simmons was less than impressed with the Cybertronians, discovering that not only ex-Decepticons had landed on his precious planet, but they were _lazy_ ex-Decepticons.

Kup came to the top of the ramp and grinned the moment he spied old friends. "Ironhide, Chromia, ya old gun turrets!" He came stomping down, with bots giving him a wide berth. He was short for a mech, easily dwarfed by Ironhide as the weapons specialist engulfed him in a brutal hug. Chromia dragged Elita One along behind her so that she could greet Kup in good conscience.

"How have you been?" Chromia asked of the old mech.

"Braving the wilds," Kup replied wryly, tilting his head toward the Seekers. "Strangest experience of my life, I gotta tell ya. Scarier still than the time I was taken hostage in Polyhex by a clip of young upstart 'Cons..." He trailed off briefly, shaking himself of a story that threatened to spill out. He grinned wide. "Half the time, I was expectin' ta wake up and have one of their null rays in my faceplate. Turns out, Seekers ain't half bad when they're tryin' ta impress."

Ironhide eyed the Seekers from underneath the heavy overhang of his optic ridges. "I don't trust them. Not a single one."

"You and me both, big guy," Simmons muttered as he marched by.

Elita One aimed a blithe smile down to her human friend, nudging him along with her foot. "That is enough out of you, Reginald. Don't play to Ironhide's prejudices – you'll only encourage him." To Ironhide, her smile turned playfully chastising. "And Ironhide, when will you learn to trust me? I vouch for Starscream fully, and by extension I vouch for his Neo-Decepticons."

One of her tiny hands was engulfed in the weapons specialist's massive paw. Ironhide's expression was a rare unguarded look of affection. "Dearspark, I love you dearly, and I would lay down my life for you, but you have always been a tricky femme with a devious mind. Only a fool would trust you when you are plotting something."

"Flatterer," Elita One laughed.

"Kup!" Hot Rod exclaimed, rushing over. "Kup, look mate, it's an organic laff form! An' it fliez, ool on its own, wivout en-jins!" He stuck out his hand, whereupon a single outstretched finger was a tiny butterfly delicately flexing its wings. "Ah know yuh told me dere were planits wiv laff forms like vis, buh look how smawl i' is! It's so deli-cut, Ah miyt kill i' if Ah move too fahst."

"Oh, don't hurt it," Elita One cooed, her long, thin fingers presented to the butterfly to tempt it to perch on her. It came readily, and she cradled it fondly.

"Wot a pri'ee lih-ul fing i' is," Hot Rod said, but the way his gaze travelled down Elita One's frame, it was not clear exactly which life form he was referring to.

Kup reached out and put a stop to that right quick with a waspish slap to the back of his ward's head.

"Wot was 'at for?!" Hot Rod exclaimed, clutching his offended cranium.

"That accent makes me want to hit you. Change it."

Immediately afterward, Hot Rod assumed a general North American English accent, of a central middle-class and unassuming lilt – one that wouldn't have him assaulted if he used it.

"Yes, sir."

Starscream surveyed the scene with a keen optic, glad to see that the earlier chaos aboard his ship did not carry over. He saw the Stunticons disembarking, minus one of their lot, and even they looked to be on their best behaviour. There were no words to describe the amount of relief Starscream felt that he was not going to be immediately humiliated in front of the bots he meant to make a truce with.

A light rev from Optimus had Starscream quickly looking back around.

"Nothing amiss?" the Prime enquired in Cybertronian, seeing as Simmons was far enough away that it wouldn't be considered impolite to speak over his head in another language.

"No, no, not at all," Starscream rushed to assure, trying not to sound... _quite_ as weaselling as he used to. "There was a bit of a scuffle when we landed, but nothing more than the bots letting off a bit of steam."

"If it is any consolation, Hot Rod started it," Ultra Magnus intoned humouredly.

Optimus arched an optic ridge.

Ultra Magnus smiled warmly. "I don't think you have ever had the pleasure of being formally introduced. Hot Rod is... well, you really have to meet him to believe he's real. In all honestly, it seems as if the war went in one audio and out the other, for as much as he has been affected. He has his charms, but he will test even _your _patience, Prime."

"He sounds like an interesting bot," Optimus chuckled.

"Only if 'interesting' is a euphuism for 'youthful little bratling who _still_ does not know his place,'" Starscream snorted.

"Hey! Hey! Did I hear my name?" Hot Rod exclaimed, bounding over. "I came up with my English designation! Ironhide suggested I look through the World Wide Web and select a designation which best suited my personality and personal abilities." He drew in a drag of air, puffing up proudly. "Hot Rod. I think I'll call myself Hot Rod! That's a good one, isn't it? Flashy but classic, powerful, striking, but a little bit sassy. It's perfect for me!"

Optimus immediately turned to Ultra Magnus. "I see what you mean by 'interesting.'"

Hot Rod's bright gaze alighted on Optimus, considerably growing wider and brighter. "You're Optimus Prime!"

"Last time I checked, yes," Optimus replied amusedly, not remembering the last time someone greeted him with such excitement. Most bots were too jaded by now.

"It's – oh wow, it's a real honour! I've always wanted to meet you. I... I've heard so much about you! I mean – you're the Prime! _The _Prime!" He rushed forward, hand extended, but at the last minute appeared to decide that that was a total _faux pas_. He halted, stared at his hand in horror, and then swung his whole upper body down in a deep bow that was more panicked than respectful. He jerked up, suddenly at a loss as to what to do. "I – um – er..."

"Finally, he is at a loss for words," Starscream sighed airily.

Optimus inclined his head to the stammering Autobot, charmed by his quirks. "Hot Rod, is it?"

"Y-yes, sir."

Otimpus's smile widened. "I can say it is absolutely my pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you here on Earth." He extended his hand, needing to take up Hot Rod's limp hand when it remained stunned at his side. He gave it a single brief squeeze, then released it.

Hot Rod would never wash that hand again.

"You've done it now, Prime," Kup laughed gruffly, clapping his charge on the shoulder. "He's completely starstruck."

Hot Rod looked to his mentor dazedly. "He touched my hand, Kup. _My hand.._."

Jazz, nearly forgotten in the shadows, jerked up as he received a transmission. His impassive mask faltered for all but a moment, showing a brief hint of concern. A frown flashed before it was gone a second later. It was all too quick for anyone to catch, so his following mask careful disinterest was believed by all... with the exception of Elita One, who shot him a measuring frown, though, in his blindness, Jazz failed to see it.

"Something came up on base," the saboteur announced glibly.

"Oh?" Optimus intoned.

Jazz offered a handsome grin. "It's nothing, Prime. Ya know the usual stuff – Wheeljack blew something up, the Twins got in a scrap, some human poked his nose where it doesn't belong. Prowl's just asking that Ah get back ta help him sort it out. He doesn't want things ta be in 'utter chaos' – his words, not mine - when everyone else gets there."

Ultra Magnus's mouthplates twitched. "Some things truly do not change."

"No, they don't," Optimus chuckled.

Jazz dismissed the comments with a flick of his hand. He needed to get back as soon as possible. Prowl's transmission had been anything but calm, and 'utter chaos' had been the key word for something much worse. "Everything looks like it's all under control here, so Ah think Ah'm gonna swing back and check things out."

Elita One stepped out from the shadow of much taller bots, an affable smile pasted on her faceplate. "Why don't you take Hot Rod with you? He looks eager to see our home, and he can keep you company on the drive."

Jazz very nearly lost his perfected mask. It took a moment, but the woodenness of his expression smoothed over into one of more natural teasing as he turned to the youngest bot in their midst – the one he had been itching to do something nasty to. "How about it, Hot Rod? Wanna go for a drive?"

Jazz's own personal fame, and perhaps his infamy, made sure Hot Rod was sufficiently starstruck.

"Yeah," the youngster breathed. "I'll go with you." He folded down into his alt mode, revving dimly as he waited for Jazz to show him the way.

Jazz kept his fake smile until the moment he transformed, collapsing into his sleek chosen alt mode. At least in that form, he could be as pissed as he wanted to be and did not need to worry about fixing his expression. With a brief flash of his lights, he turned and made his way to the pothole-strewn dirt road that winded its way through the llama farm that would lead him to the highway. Hot Rod gave a jaunty whistle as he crawled along behind, his Cybertronian alt mode looking strange and obscene against the natural greens and browns of Earth.

Elita One watched them go until they were out of sight. She hoped Hot Rod would make it to base in one piece, and that Jazz did not decide to leave him in a ditch somewhere.

And while Elita One watched them, Starscream watched her. Her smile wavered for a moment, the look in her eyes turning to a distant point beyond the horizon, as if she were seeing something that no one else could see. But then she tipped her head, raising one delicately sculpted audio dial into the air, making Starscream reconsider his previous thought; she looked like she could _hear_ something no one else could hear. A strange thought indeed, though hardly surprising after everything else Starscream had seen in such a short time since he had last been to this planet.

Optimus likewise noted Elita One's distant expression. He laid a gentle hand to the side of her arm. "Dearspark...?"

She blinked, immediately retuning her attention to the small group. Her smile was a touch too wide to be completely believable. "Well," she said, clapping her hands together, "I think we should get the preliminaries out of the way, don't you think?"

"Yes, of course," Ultra Magnus readily agreed, then deferred to Optimus. "Is there a place set up for us?"

"No, no, this is completely informal at the moment," Optimus said, a tad sheepishly. "There is a bit of an issue on this planet of finding appropriately sized spaces for us. Standing outdoors is really our only option until we get back to base, where we can move below ground."

"We can take a short walk away from this place," Kup suggested, shaking out his stiff legs. "Joints are feeling the strain of natural gravity again. Need a bit of a walk to shake them out." He decided their direction by stumping off, kicking his legs out every couple of steps to give them a surreptitious jolt.

Starscream eyed the old bot's back with a mild frown, but then sighed and followed after everyone else. His Seekers followed along behind, silently keeping a vigilant optic open for any sign of danger.

Elita One, her legs the shortest of the group, gracefully glided alongside Chromia, leaning up to murmur in the other femme's audio. Chromia paused, nodded, and then dug something out from subspace to hand over without a second thought. Elita One accepted the object, tucking into her own personal subspace pocket without Starscream catching sight of what it was.

From behind him, Starscream could hear Skywarp absently saying, "I think I'm going to like it here. The skies are so open – it's nothing like Chaar."

"Don't get used to it," Acid Storm warned. "Who knows how long we're going to stay?" In a lower voice, he murmured, "Or if the planet is even going to be here for long..."

That was a sobering thought, one that reminded Starscream of his mission. The reason that brought him back to Earth in the first place.

As if reading his thoughts, Kup suddenly intoned, "This is an awfully quiet planet for a place supposedly under seige."

Truthfully, their current surroundings were the epitome of a peaceful oasis, though perhaps maybe not the most attractive scenery to their inorganic tastes. The day was bright and quiet. The only sounds to be heard were of the wind over the grass and dirt, the low drone of insects, and the skittering of animals startled away by the several tons of giant alien robots passing by. One would never know that Unicron loomed large and dangerous somewhere close by, and The Fallen somewhere supposedly even closer.

"You haven't been here long enough," Chromia replied with a snort. "Give it time."

"This looks like a good enough place to stop," Optimus said, looking back at the looming ship they had left behind. The _Birds of Paradise_ was so huge that it still took up a considerable amount of air space, despite their little group having moved off a decent way. It was a warship of impressive dimensions. The bots who continued to sun themselves in the dirt were little more than dark smudges.

Agent Simmons was thankfully out of sight.

"Where do we start?" Ultra Magnus wondered.

Starscream placed his hands to his hips, optic ridges raising toward the Prime. "You show us yours and we'll show you ours?"

"Fair enough," said the Prime, honouring the proposition by immediately divulging the bare facts of a series of events almost too fantastical to believe. Starting with the events of Mission City eight years prior, to the dumping of the tyrant's corpse in the ocean and his subsequent resurrection a year later. The more terrifying revelation that Megatron was not simply Megatron, but something much, _much_ worse. The Fallen's looming presence above Earth, unseen but certainly felt; the monster's near-constant harassment of every living being. And now, Nemesis and their recent revelations concerning Bumblebee.

"Unicron has not been seen for several years?" Sunstorm wondered carefully.

Acid Storm shot his partner an acidic look. "Don't you dare make a prophetic remark about that."

"He has not seen directly on this planet, though his presence has been felt," Optimus said above Acid Storm's remark. "We believe he is responsible for the disappearance of a planetoid called Pluto in this solar system. It disappeared several months ago."

"He Who Devours Worlds. Worlds are what he takes sustenance from, especially worlds that support life," the Seeker murmured soberly. "I am surprised he has not attempted to devour this world yet."

"He tried once. The damages still remain, as you will shortly see when we drive back to base," Elita One intoned. "Sam... the Allspark... prevented Unicron from devouring much. For the time that Unicron and the Fallen have been here, they have been stealing energy from all possible sources. We believe that they have been trying to revive the Unmaker to full capacity, though without the pure power of the Allspark, their efforts have been slow and costly."

"And now you have these new contenders in Nemesis and... Bumblebee," Ultra Magnus said, stumbling on the last designation. "You say that it appears that Nemesis has broken away from working with the Fallen? That he and Bumblebee are working from their own angle?"

"Yes," Optimus confirmed.

"We have never known much about Bumblebee's origins," Jetfire said, not knowing that he had been involved in Bumblebee's creation. He had been selected by Prime to go with him on the possibly foolhardy mission, but for Bumblebee's protection, Optimus had asked that all those who had been involved in the experiment delete their memories of it.

"I knew Bumblebee," Kup said gruffly. "He was a good bot. A good warrior. I don't see him as some monster from another universe, or whatever it is he's supposed to be now."

Jetfire shifted his weight, looking as if he were sorting through catalogues of our information in his head. During the Golden Age, he had been a specialist of sparks. He had studied the nature of the source of life for all Cybertronians, and had even studied the unique case of the Twins when they had been young. Precisely the reason Optimus had chosen him to assist with Bumblebee's creation.

"It is... possible," said the jet. "It is widely accepted that there are alternate universes that exist alongside ours. A part of my studies was looking into the formation of sparks, where the energy comes from and how it forms into the lives that we know. Some of the hypotheses included that sparks were drawn from other universes through the Allspark, and the Matrix simply transmogrified them into a form useable to us. Considering Bumblebee's origin, the corruption in the process could easily have created a perversion of the source energy. Instead of pulling from whatever well of energy-"

"Well of Sparks," Sunstorm corrected.

"Well of Sparks," Jetfire amended. "Instead of pulling from that, the attempt was redirected to somewhere else, somewhere where whatever Bumblebee is had been waiting for some opportunity to be pulled through. If we come from a place known as the 'Well of Allsparks', then Bumblebee could very well be from the place we collectively refer to as the 'Pit.'"

"And if he's supposed to be some kind of pit-hound, what was he doing being himself all this time?" Kup challenged.

"I didn't say he was a pit-hound. I am not even saying he's from the Pit, or even if the Pit exists-"

"It does," Sunstorm intoned.

Acid Storm stomped on his foot.

"_But,"_ Jetfire emphasized, "when we are dealing with the possibility of alternate universes on top of the possibility of world-devouring gods, I think it best to keep our options open. It looks like the field is open for anything that is possible." He shot a quick glance at Starscream. "And perhaps for a few things that are impossible."

"This just gets better and better," Starscream snorted.

Ironhide rumbled deeply, crossing his arms over his very broad chest. "Like you are much of an improvement to the situation."

"As a matter of fact, I am," Starscream countered, bringing himself up to his full height so that he towered over the Autobot. "With me and my bots on this planet, your chances of getting through this mess alive have just risen from _zero._"

Deep blue optics narrowed into slits. "And what have you got that we don't?"

"Something a lot better than a pair of cannons and no clue how to deal with a god."

Elita cleared her vents, stepping between them with a soft hand to each of their chests, gently pressing them apart. Her smile was reassuring as she turned to Ironhide. "Starscream has brought something that none of us have. A few things, I think, but one of particular use to us."

She dropped her hands from their chests, going into subspace to withdraw a small hilt. It was black, compact, made for the hands of a femme. She activated it without hesitation, extending the energon blade confidently. Then she turned to Starscream, her optics searching his. Hidden in the crystalline blue depths, there was a haunting uncertainty, an unwillingness to move forward even as she shifted her feet for a better stance.

"Isn't that right, Starscream?"

"Yes, that's right." Starscream braced himself for what he knew was coming. It was going to hurt, but it was the best proof he had and he was willing to accept it if Elita One was the one serving the blow. She was his sponsor, after all, the one who had invited him to the planet. How she knew of his condition was a matter he planned to bring up with her the moment he managed to get her alone. "Go ahead."

Her nod was barely disenable.

The blade sang for a moment, followed by the dull thud of the blade pressing through a slate in his armour and Elita One's fist around the hilt of the dagger banging into his front. She was short, looking so delicate and small as she stood in his shadow with an energon blade plunged into the core of his sparkcase. Starscream could feel the fire that raced through his frame, the sudden burning and horror and disgust to see his own death laid out before him and knowing it wasn't going to end like this.

His Seekers stirred behind him, shocked by the sudden action. Starscream's own lack of reaction helped to stay them from any retaliation.

Ultra Magnus and Jetfire gasped, rearing away. They were aware of Starscream's unusual quirk, but it was still shocking to see it in action.

But the reactions that Starscream focused on were the Autobots who happened to know nothing about him. Their gasps, surprised exclamations. Optimus reached for his mate, trying to draw her back. Starscream felt the sudden jerk on the blade in his chest, grunting with discomfort.

"All right, Elita, I think they get the point." As calmly as he could, Starscream reached up and wrapped his hand around the slightly trembling appendage wrapped loosely around the hilt. He tightened his grip, dislodging the killing blow. Its exit was thankfully smooth, sliding out of his frame with a new swath of fire raging up his neural circuits. He felt air rush into the hole, unexpectedly cool against his innards. His spark churned in discomfort, though pulsing as steadily as ever.

Once free of Starscream's touch, Elita One dropped the blade and tucked her hand to her chest.

"So, you see, I bring something to this battle that no one else possesses," said the Seeker, wiping his hand down his front as energon began to ooze forth. "What better way to fight a god that brings death than with a bot who cannot die?"


	43. To Make a Wish

There was a chapter before this, but it... disappeared. I think. Don't ask me where it went. I don't know. I am still trying to figure out that mystery. =/ Luckily, the chapter that I wrote that was _supposed_ to be before this one wasn't all that important. It touched on Jazz going to see why Prowl had summoned him (because Sunstreaker _totally_ did something stupid), and showed the aftermath of the Banes women taking care of a hologram-bound Hound, but now that I think about it, I can condense the essentials of that chapter into the coming chapter. I can make it a lot more interesting, pushing the plot forward quicker. Yeah. Okay. I think I am going to take this mishap as a positive.

Major mondo thanks to the readers of the last chapter! Thank you so much for your love and enthusiasm, not to mention your patience during the long wait between chapters. I really do appreciate your kind words and encouragement. Thank you so much to **CNightJoy, Faecat, Berylium, Gamemice, Shadir, Flameshield, Field Empathy, renegadewriter8, star's dreams, femme4jack, luinrina, FORD B Jesus, scrin99, Lecidre,** and **rubymoon95.** If or when I finish this story, I will do so for you! ^_^

**May We Never Let Go  
To Make a Wish **

"Well, this sucks," Hot Rod lamented as he sat in the shade of an office building on base. At the first opportunity, Jazz had ditched him. Ditched him! Left him stranded in the middle of an alien base. Granted, he wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere, but still... Now he had nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Little organic aliens kept passing him by, watching him with wide, wet eyes. None of them stopped to chat with him.

Hot Rod had never felt so large and awkward in his life. Even among microbots, he felt like he fit in. But here, on Earth, everything was so small and delicate and organic. It made him want to tuck in his arms and legs in fear of touching something the wrong way and breaking it. One wrong move and _squish_ goes the human.

Not that he had much of a choice for company. Either humans, other assorted organic aliens, or nothing. The Cybertronian base was supposed to be around here somewhere, but Jazz had failed to mention any directions. For as long as Hot Rod had been sitting, he hadn't seen another Cybertronian anywhere in the vicinity. He had not even thought about asking any of the other Autobots before he'd left their group back at the _Birds of Paradise_.

Dropping his forehead against his upraised knees, he muttered, "Urgh, I feel like such a loser."

Nearly at the exact same time, a calm "Hello" chirped from somewhere in the vicinity of his left foot.

Startled, Hot Rod was quick to look down. A second later, he was surprised to see... _something_ standing there. He wasn't exactly sure what it was.

"Um, hello?" he replied, not wanted to be rude. He tried not to stare, though it was proving difficult. The alien was definitely not a native to Earth, if the glowing blue was any indication. Funny how Hot Rod's sensors did not pick up any kind of energy signature. No life signs, either. A quick perusal of Earth's databases failed to reveal what sort of alien it was.

"You're new to Earth, aren't you?" said the creature.

"Yeah, just arrived this morning." Hot Rod glanced around, looking to see if there was anyone else around. Maybe someone who could give him some answers? Preferably someone who could act as a buffer between him and the intense stare of the glowing alien. His closest guess was that it looked a little bit like a human. Then again, it also looked a little bit like a bug zapper.

Jewel-bright eyes blinked up at him, seeming to see right through him. "Everyone is still out at the landing site, I take it?"

"Yes. They had a lot of things to talk about." Deciding that a little bit of rudeness was necessary to assuage his discomfort, Hot Rod said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but what are you?"

A smile lit up the creature's face – literally. The dark recesses of its mouth exuded a subtle glow, the same blue that glowed eerily from its orb-like eyes and from the twisting patterns that trailed endlessly across its skin. Its bones stuck out beneath its skin, giving it a sickly appearance.

"I'm Sam."

Weird organic name.

That strange glowing gaze swept over Hot Rod, intense and knowing. He was struck by the uncanny sense that he had met this creature before, a long time ago. That was impossible, though. He would have remembered something as strange looking as a glowing organic. Hot Rod history with organics was... limited, at best. Yet his spark turned over in his chest and his mind accepted Sam's presence with a calm finality, like they were old acquaintances.

"You're Hot Rod, right?" Sam said, causing Hot Rod to jump inside his armour.

"How did you know?" Frag! Had he actually met this alien before?

Another shrug. "I just do."

"Oh," said Hot Rod, pursing his mouthplates. He looked anywhere but at that intense stare. His mind seized on the first possible thought. "There are Nebulons on this planet. Are you techno-organic, like them?"

Sam laughed, which Hot Rod decided to take as an affirmative. Relief soughed through him. It made sense, really. Techno-organics were getting more and more common around the universe. This one must be super advanced to hide his energy signature and be able to hack into a Cybertronian's mind without a bot feeling it.

In a flash, Sam stopped laughing. His head swung around like it were on a swivel. Cocking an ear, it was as if he heard someone calling for him. The intensity of his expression showed how hard Sam was listening. It was silent to Hot Rod's audios, so he assumed that whatever Sam was he must have had some form of intercranial communication, like Cybertronians. Or maybe he was psychic, like some organics could be.

"I've got to go," Sam suddenly said, turning away and beginning to head for the nearby road.

Hot Rod was left feeling like a complete idiot, ditched by Jazz and now completely dismissed by a stranger. He kicked a foot through the dirt, sucked in a proud breath that thrust his chest out, and immediately followed after Sam. What was the worst that could happen?

Sam briefly glanced at him, but kept walking.

"So, um, I was ditched by a friend of mine," Hot Rod intoned lightly, treading carefully so he did not step upon the fragile creature weaving between his feet. "I don't know anyone here, and no one showed me how to get to the Cybertronian part of base. All of the bots I do know are still out at the _Birds of Paradise_. Do you mind if I follow you for a bit?"

"Follow me?" Sam repeated, drawing up short. He stared straight up, making Hot Rod feel like he was being x-rayed. Those glowing eyes were creepy-scary. Hot Rod tried again to look anywhere but at that intense stare, increasingly finding it difficult to find something else to look at. Sam did not seem to notice his discomfort. "Why would you want to follow me?"

"I don't know. You're the first living being to talk to me since I got here, I guess," Hot Rod pressed, hoping for even minor sympathy. Strange company was better than no company at all. "I'm really new to this planet, like _fresh off the ship_ new. I can't find any Cybertronians, and all the other organic aliens just stare at me."

Sam pursed his lips, still watching him.

"It's not much, but you're the only one I know around here. You're the only one who said 'hello'," Hot Rod said uneasily, shifting his feet. "I'm not good on my own. Do you mind if I follow you? Just until I get my bearings around the place?"

A long sigh, followed by a neutral, "I don't mind."

"Really?" Hot Rod instantly perked up.

Sam chuckled quietly. "I saw you while I was walking," he jerked his chin in the direction he had come from, "and thought I saw something... interesting about you. I wanted to come over and check it out."

"Yeah?" He perked up, eager to listen.

"I don't know what I saw that was interesting about you," Sam admitted, causing the bot to deflate. "Come on, we're going to take a drive off of base. There's nothing I can do for anyone around here. It's all beyond me at the moment."

Hot Rod seized upon the invitation, instantly transforming. Practically jittering on his shocks, happy to have any kind of company at all. He retained his Cybertronian alt mode, having been unable to find an appealing vehicle to trans-scan on his way to base. Jazz had tried to convince him a Volkswagen Beetle was all the rage on Earth. Hot Rod had vetoed that option in an instant.

"So, you have an important job around here?" he wondered, leaning to the left and then to the right to follow along as Sam circled his alt mode. Assuming organic aliens did not see transformers all that often, Hot Rod assumed the alien's curiosity and let him look.

"One of the most important," Sam sighed, sounded anything but pleased with that fact.

"Important, huh? Are you an organic Prime or something?"

A laugh startled from the alien. "No, nothing like that. I'd never want to be a Prime. Being me is hard enough."

Hot Rod rocked on his axels. "Are you kidding? I would jump at the chance to be a Prime! Think of all that power!"

Sam's expression darkened. "All that responsibility."

"Oh. Yeah. That, too."

"I have a hard enough time with the responsibility I have now. This is not exactly my dream job," Sam admitted. "I never asked for this. I'd never ask to be Prime, either."

Hot Rod stayed quiet for a moment, his spark weighted by the heaviness of Sam's words. He hesitated before asking, "Can't you step down if you wanted to? Someone else could take over your function." The moment the words left his mouthplates, he felt incredibly stupid – especially since he didn't even know what kind of function the alien had. What if it was someone that no one else could do? What if he was making a fool out of himself by saying ridiculous things without even knowing it. Why was he even thinking about things like that? Most of the time, he just talked without thinking about what came out his mouthplates.

"I can't step down, there's no one else to take over. It's okay, though. I'll be done soon, anyways," Sam said, patting Hot Rod's flank. "Forced retirement, but it's all the same I guess. Here, let me help you with your alt mode."

Before Hot Rod could enquire about what he needed help with, power shot through him. A strange, familiar, powerful power that energized his neural circuits and made his energon sing. His spark shot tight and hot in his spark. It wasn't painful, but made him feel so full he was bursting at the seams.

The next thing Hot Rod knew, his frame actually was coming apart at the seams. He felt his Cybertronian form folding inward, compressing and disappearing, being stored in that strange place of memory that remembered every form he had ever taken on with this specific frame. Dark liquid metal flowed outward, covering him, becoming his outer shell. It should have been impossible for him to remain down in an 'alt mode' while simultaneously converting into his proto-form. The only alt mode his proto-form had was atmospheric entry mode, and that looked like a meteorite! Despite logic and the rules of his frame, Hot Rod knew he was in alt mode, and also knew he was covered helm to aft in protective dense covering of heat-resistent heavy metal of his proto-mode.

As quick as that happened, he was changing again. Lowering closer to the ground, feeling his insides rearranging. Moving around, shifting, changing. The last to change was his outer layer. He did not have optics to see with in whatever weird limbo he existed in, but he knew what he looked like. He watched as the dark metal of his proto-form swirled and retreated, reforming. A ripple moved through him from where Sam's hand touched, and in its wake there was bright red-orange armour. Shiny, glossy, perfect paint, better looking than anything his original chromatic cells could imitate. It took a stunned moment before Hot Rod could move. Or speak. Or even think in full sentences.

"W-what did you do?" he gasped, reversing away, engine sputtering.

"I switched out your alt mode for something that would blend in better," Sam replied aloofly. "I didn't know if it would work, but apparently it did."

"You can do that?" Hot Rod exclaimed, trying to keep the hysteria out of his voice.

"I can do a lot of things," Sam replied, eerily calm.

"What am I supposed to be now?" he squeaked, terrified of the answer. What if it was something horrible? Something hideous? What if he was a _Beetle_?

"Corvette Stingray."

"A what?"

Sam allowed for a smile, amusement shining in his strange eyes. "A Corvette Stingray, a type of car here on Earth. You needed to blend in with the natives, and I needed a ride that I could actually ride in, so this suited us both. You look great."

"Are you sure?" Hot Rod pressed, creeping closer nervously. "I'm not going to transform and suddenly discover I have horns or scales or something, right? I'm not going to have gears coming out of my head or my wheels stuck to my aft?"

"No," Sam laughed.

"What about having the front bumper on my chest? I saw that on Jazz and I wasn't going to say anything to him, but I don't like that look."

Sam laughed out loud. "No, I arranged it so that the hood faces down on your front. You'll look good, I promise."

Oddly enough, Hot Rod trusted the weird alien that, with just a touch, had managed to rearrange his entire frame. While his mind questioned Sam, his spark continued to accept him unconditionally. Primus, that was just damned creepy. What if this was some sort of psychometric field thing making him trust the alien?

"Everything alright?" Sam asked, sensing Hot Rod's hesitation.

"A little freaked out at the moment."

Sam grimaced. "Sorry. I shouldn't have changed you around without saying anything first. The power is starting to get to my head."

"Apology accepted," Hot Rod said. "Everyone is always telling me how I don't use my head enough." He popped a door open in invitation. Sam climbed in and buckled up. Instead of immediately moving, Hot Rod took a moment to get used to the strange sensation. "I've never had anyone sit inside me before."

"Neither have I," Sam joked. He patted the steering wheel. "Don't worry about it. I'm an old hat at this. I'll direct you with the wheel, but I'll let you do your own thing."

"That should work," Hot Rod agreed, happy to have someone who knew what they were doing. What _was _the proper etiquette for having an alien sit inside you? Did you leave the internal controls to them? Or was the Cybertronian expected to control everything? Yeesh. Complicated. "So, where are we going?"

"A city a couple of hours away from here," Sam replied, easing the wheel in the direction they should head in. Hot Rod took the direction readily, easing onto the road and heading for the one bridge leading off of the EDC base. "Someone is waiting for me there."

"Should I tag along if you're going to meet someone?" Hot Rod wondered. "I can hang back if this is a private meeting."

"Don't worry about it," Sam assured. "I could probably use the backup."

The drive was nearly silent between Hot Rod and his new companion. Surprisingly, it wasn't awkward silence. For once, Hot Rod did not feel the need to fill the quiet with noise. He did not feel the need to fidget. Instead, he was overtaken by an abiding sense of peace. He wondered if that was a side-effect of having an alien sit inside of him. Sam wasn't heavy or anything. In fact, Hot Rod barely felt him.

Aside from the silence, the drive was pleasant. The road was wide open and unbroken, which was a nice change from space. There were no roads in space. Hot Rod enjoyed the rare chance to stretch his wheels and revel in the freedom of flying down an open highway. He was three time in excess of the posted speed limit, but Sam did not say anything, so Hot Rod continued. He felt the roar of his engine vibrate through him. Air rush over him. Wonderful, pure freedom!

They made it to the city in record time. Hot Rod read the sign as they passed.

"Welcome to Mission City." He paused, slowing down to match the speed of the car ahead of him. "I think I've heard of Mission City before."

"You probably have," Sam said, though not elaborating.

"Have you been here before?" Hot Rod wondered.

"Every time I close my eyes," the boy sighed.

"I don't get it."

"I've been here a lot," Sam amended, patting the dashboard. "We're heading for the other side of the city, to a park. You won't be able to miss it."

Weaving through the streets, skirting around buildings, creeping through intersections, Hot Rod was in awe of so many little organics. They were everywhere. He had never seen so many! His experience with organics was limited to only the space stations he and Kup had stopped on, and even then Kup had tried to keep Hot Rod away from making a fool of himself. But here, in this form, the humans did not know what Hot Rod was. They saw him as a fancy vehicle, and they stared with envy in their wet little eyes... Right up until they caught sight of Sam in the driver's seat. Their expressions promptly shifted after that.

"You must be a very rare species if the humans act like they've never seen someone like you before," Hot Rod commented, hoping he sounded observant and clever.

Sam was silent for a beat, and then replied, "I'm the only one of my kind."

Hot Rod felt his spark plummet, immediately stumbling for an apology. It came out as a lame, "Oh, um, sorry." Wow. Could that sound any more fake? It's not like Hot Rod didn't have experience being part of an extremely endangered species. He couldn't be bothered to offer a decent condolence to someone else? Primus, he was a stupid half-bit.

His one saving grace? Sam did not seem to notice the stilted delivery.

"Don't worry about it," he said lowly, shrugging it off.

They made it to the park quickly enough. Hot Rod suspected that Sam might have been technopathic on top if whatever else he was, because traffic lights mysteriously changed every time they approached. The park entrance when they arrived was unassuming. Two stone statues carved in the shape of humans stood guard next to decorative wrought iron fencing. Sam immediately disembarked the moment Hot Rod slowed enough, making his way to the statues that towered proudly over him. He put his hand to the side of one, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead on the cold stone.

Not knowing what else to do, Hot Rod transformed and crouched down. Trying not to be obvious about it, he peeked down at his new bipedal mode to see what he looked like. As promised, his hood faced down over his chest, broken up over the contours to create a rather eye-catching ensemble. Whatever Sam was supposed to be, he had good taste in Cybertronian fashion. The rest of him was decent, though a little more bulky than his Cybertronian mode. It couldn't be helped, though. It's not like Earth cars were meant to transform into robots.

Being that transforming was such a part of his nature, Hot Rod did not think of what it might mean to do so in the middle of a busy metropolitan area. His ignorance were immediately corrected. Human gasps, as well as a few well-placed startled cursing, alerted him to his new audience. He glanced over his shoulder and grimaced at the wide-eyed, open-mouthed stares. A couple cars swerved while their drivers gaped. To add further insult, a dog lunged to the end of its leash and starting barking wildly.

"Frag," Hot Rod sighed, hunching his shoulders like that would magically make him less noticeable. "I could have just used a hologram, couldn't I?"

"It's a little too late for that now," Sam replied apologetically. "Don't mind their staring. Your kind don't have a good reputation with the city, but they won't do anything to you while your in the park. It's neutral territory."

Hot Rod inched closer to the gate. Energy tingled over his armour. "What kind of park is this?"

"It's called Battle Park," Sam said. "It's a memorial."

"Battle Park, huh?" Hot Rod shuttered his optics, canting his head. Yep, he wasn't just imagining that energy. It was real. Barely there, almost like a ghost signature, but recognizable nonetheless. "Don't think this is weird or anything, but it's like I can feel the Allspark around here."

Sam's lips lifted a fraction. "Makes sense. This is the place where Megatron was killed by the Allspark."

"That was here? Right in this very spot?" Wide optics traced around eagerly, though there were no signs of the years-old battle left in the area. No signs Megatron had ever been here in the first place. The park was winter-dead and the buildings were square and whole. A typical, unexciting scene.

"Not this very spot," Sam moderated, waving his hand into the main area of the park. "Around this general area somewhere."

A shiver worked its way down Hot Rod's back. "It's weird to think Megatron is dead now. All my life he was this evil tyrant, and now he's gone. Just... gone."

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but reconsidered.

"It was a human boy who killed Megatron, wasn't it?" Hot Rod wondered, rubbing his arms for warmth when it felt like his internal temperature plummeted. "He was the one who shoved the Allspark into Megatron's chest. It burnt up on contact."

A curt nod served as an answer.

He glanced over his shoulder, feeling as if someone were watching them. "The Allspark's not gone, though. I heard some of the others talking about it being reincarnated in the human boy."

Sam looked expectant for a moment, but when Hot Rod simply stared back at him blankly, the alien rolled his eyes and turned away.

"This section of the city was too damaged to invest in repairs, so most of it was knocked down and turned into a monument park in remembrance of everyone who died in the battle." Sam moved between the two statues into the opening of the park. It was a fairly large space, the ground raised on a hill built up from covered debris below. December was not the prettiest time of the year; even though Nevada was not prone to snow, it did get cool, and the grass was looking a little dry. The perimeter was dotted with different pieces of rubble, scorched brick and twisted metal mounted on displays with their own plaques.

"It's all pieces from the buildings that were knocked down," Sam said, following Hot Rod's curious gaze. "The statues are from the building that Megatron knocked down trying to get to the Allspark. It's amazing how some of the statues survived when the rest of the building was reduced to dust. Come on, let's get deeper into the park."

Hands shoved into his pockets, Sam wandered down the meandering stone path. Hot Rod was careful where he put his feet as he followed a couple steps behind. A short walk around a wide bent in the path, passed a copse of decorative trees and shrubs, a massive monument stood proudly as the focal point of the park.

The monument itself was a strange, alien thing of clear, bright crystal that twisted upwards like it was a living thing. There were no marks upon it to say it had been made by human hands. The tops of its many sharp points stretched high above Hot Rods head, glittering dangerously under the weak winter sun. It looked almost like a vortex caught frozen in time, a whirling dervish with multiple twisters reaching up into the sky, twisting over and over on itself in impossible ways.

Drawn to it, entranced by it, Hot Rod wandered close enough to stand in its shadow. Light fractured through the body, scattering into rainbows. He sucked in air tinged with the ghost of power. He had only met the Allspark once, on the orn he had been created, but he remembered the awe of standing in its presence. This was that same humbling majesty.

Sam followed at his side, staring that the monument with an indecipherable expression.

"When the Allspark was destroyed, it released a massive amount of energy," the boy elaborated without a prompt. "Funny thing is, the only thing the Allspark destroyed was Megatron. Nothing else was harmed." A smirk appeared, almost self-deprecating. "Instead of destroying, the Allspark did as its been doing for a long time – it created. All the trees and grass and flowers you see around here weren't here eight years ago. They sprung up in the aftermath. And this-," Sam nodded to the monument, "was dug up right beneath the spot where the Allspark died. All that power somehow compressed and heated all the carbon in the earth below. It made this diamond tower."

"I've never seen anything like it," Hot Rod murmured.

Sam nodded sadly, reaching for the structure. "I don't see why the Allspark's death has to be so pretty. I kind of wish it was ugly, or not here at all. I don't need this kind of reminder."

The devastated look on the boy's face kept Hot Rod from questioning him.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm going to look like this in the end." He pressed his hand against the surface, making the many facets of the diamond light up bright blue under the midday sun. In a strange way, it felt as if the monument had been waiting for Sam to touch it. Two halves of a whole, one living and one dead.

Hot Rod's audios rang with a distant sound, what struck crystal sounded like when it sang. He shook his head, but could not shake off the ringing. The alien monument, a grave to the Allspark, was too beautiful to look away. Lit up like it was, it appeared alive, its glittering blue body rippling fluidly, its outstretched tentacles writhing.

When Hot Rod could resist no longer, he pressed his palm to the diamond twist. In that instant, the ringing in his audios became and shriek, the tingling in his frame morphing into a powerful surge. His frame seized, shooting rigid while his optics rolled back. A gunshot _crack_ echoed in the park as Hot Rod's spinal column bent back, his frame contorting. Every light on his frame lit up with the rush of power. Pure _Allspark_ power.

Not just a weak ghost of energy left behind in the final moments of the artifact's death, but a fresh dose of searing, off-the-charts power.

Before his mind could register anything else, he was weightless. Flying backwards through the air, wondering why the sky looked so blue. The ground jarred beneath him, shorting out his optics. A minor quake rocked the park. Gravel tore up his nice new paint job, followed by dry grass and dirt leaving behind deep smears of brown. Rodents scrambled in fright, dogs barking, cars screeching to a halt in the roads surrounding the green.

Sam jerked his hand away, looking unsurprised by Hot Rod's electrocution. "Sorry."

Coughing up dirt and dust, Hot Rod scrambled onto his hands and knees. His vision wavered, sparkling blue. In one wild astrosecond between blind blinking, he looked at Sam and did not see a humanoid alien staring back at him. In Sam's place was something else. Something huge. A massive vortex of power that stretched so high and so wide that it engulfed the sky. Spinning, howling, churning with power, it made the air scream with its immense power. It was a rip in reality, whipping frayed fabric in all directions. Blue lightning licked out in all directions, weaving throughout the howling hurricane, unfurling across the sky until it lashed the horizon. There was no end to the power, rolling on forever into the dark of space.

Hot Rod stared into the face of infinity.

In the next blink, he saw Sam, and Sam blinked back at him wearily.

"You!" he heard himself exclaim, not sure whether he sounded excited or horrified or both. Most likely both. "_You!_ You're the boy! You're the-!"

"Allspark?" Sam cut in. "Yeah, that's me. I probably should have mentioned that earlier." He shoved his hands in his pockets, dropping whatever shield he had managed to cobble together to hide that incredible power.

Partially prepared for it, Hot Rod only stumbled back a single step before finding his aft in the dirt again. Staring at the creature now, Hot Rod cursed his own blatant stupidity. "Ultra Magnus is going to kill me! Kup is going to kill me!" He seized his head, burying his faceplate in his palms. "Optimus Prime is going to hate me forever! You should have said you were the Allspark! How could I not have known?!"

Sam arched his brows. "I thought it was rather obvious."

"Not to me, it wasn't!"

A long exhale laced with regret blew on the breeze. "I took advantage of your ignorance. For that, I am sorry. I needed a ride here and you... you were just sitting there." A bitter smirk crossed Sam's wasted face. "If you had known, would you have brought me here?"

"No! Of course not! Never!" Hot Rod exclaimed. "I never would have taken the Allspark off of base! Even I know what I bad idea that is!"

"Exactly."

"But-!"

"Shh," Sam hissed, waving Hot Rod into silence. His expression morphed from one of contriteness to seriousness. "He's here."

What little warmth was left in the air drained away in an instant, leaving behind a choking vacuum. The sun above paled, the afternoon light turning grey and weak. Dry grass crunched in tune to the pattern of approaching footsteps.

"_Sam,"_ called a new voice, a familiar voice.

Sam turned, as did Hot Rod's head, and they both saw the newcomer. It was a crippled creature, pitiful, dressed in rags of a yellowed, piss-stained colour. Dirt coated its exposed feet, blackening the nails of the hands that clutched the rags close around its bent body. A mask covered its face, a blank slate pierced by two dark abysses that served as the narrow eyeholes, and a gaping mouth so black that it appeared to suck light right out of the air.

Upon its head was a twisted crown of dirty gold.

Hot Rod found himself recoiling from the creature before consciously recognizing his horror.

"W-what is that thing?" he stuttered, trying to control the wild urge to collapse into his alt mode and screech out of there. He choked on his own spark as it pounded so hard in his sparkcase the shockwaves reverberated up his throat. He had no reason to fear this creature, but his instinctive, visceral response was just that. _Fear_. Every ounce of his being revolted against the newcomer.

"That," Sam said without looking away from the ragged yellow figure, "is a god."

Hot Rod tasted congealed energon bubble up from his tanks.

Blue-patterned arms crossed over a wasted chase. A skeptical brow arched high. "One that looks pretty damn good for someone who got the shit kicked out of him last night."

The yellow figure inclined its head. "We gods bounce back rather fast."

"No accounting for shrinkage, right?" Sam jeered.

Upon those words, one dirty hand reached up out of the folds of rags, reaching for that terrible mask. With a gentle jerk, it pried away its face to reveal the monster beneath. Surging upward and outward, an indescribable entity took shape. Sulphurous yellow dotted by two burning red eyes. It grew taller and taller until it was even with the diamond monument. Soon, taller. Finally, it solidified into a looming metallic shape.

"Ah, there you are," Sam said, tilting his head back to glare up at the perverted form of his brother. In this form, battle damages from last night were still fairly obvious. "Nice trick. Too bad you couldn't turn back into your old self."

Hot Rod was having trouble comprehending what he was seeing. His processor simply blanked. Mind going silent. In the emptiness, a noise like a scream rose up and Hot Rod wondered what they was until he realized it was himself. He shook himself, gagging. The shape was wrong. The colour was wrong. Everything about the creature... god... monster was glaringly, screamingly _wrong_. But the underlying shape was there. A hint of the bot that once lived that that armour.

"B-Bumblebee?" Hot Rod choked.

The King in Yellow paid no mind to the noise. He only had eyes for Sam. "I see you came."

"Of course I did," Sam replied, daring a step closer. "You called."

Hot Rod sputtered, flailing, mind racing with desperate thoughts of what to do. Call for help! Yes. That's what he had to do! While the Allspark kept Bumblebee distracted, Hot Rod would send out a call to arms! Gather the troops! He needed to tell Kup, or Ultra Magnus! No, Starscream! Optimus Prime! And yet they were all too far away to help. Any help sent would be too late arriving, except to bury their still-hot corpses.

For the first time in his life, Hot Rod was completely on his own with no one around to bail him out of trouble. Yes, for once, he wasn't the one who got himself into that trouble, but now that he was neck-deep in it...

"Frag," he cursed bitterly. Only now did he realize what everyone else knew about him: he was a useless half-bit.

Cast in the dark shadow of the towering god, Sam glowed fiercely, oblivious to Hot Rod's identity crisis.

"I will always come when you call me," the Allspark uttered determinedly.

"You mean you will always come when Bumblebee calls," corrected the god, scowling deeply. "I am not Bumblebee."

"Yes. You are."

"You are intent on getting him back, aren't you?"

Sam's fists clenched. "Bumblebee sacrificed himself for the people he loved. I won't let him be used like this."

The King in Yellow canted his head thoughtfully. "And if he isn't in here to save?"

"Then I damn well will avenge him."

A soft laugh drifted on the cold breeze. "I was curious to see if your love for Bumblebee would have you do something stupid," the King mused. "Coming all the way out here was a very foolish thing to do."

Sam circled around, arms loose at his sides, weight balanced evenly between his feet. Light flickered between his fingers. "I could say the same thing to you. This is going to turn into a fight, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." He withdrew a sulphur-tempered sword from subspace, its blade jagged and pockmarked from savage use.

More light flickered. "You didn't fare so well last night. So sure I'll let you live this time?"

"Your misplaced love for Bumblebee won't let you kill me. I, on the other hand, have no such love for you."

Quick as lightning, the god lunged. The great sword whistled through the air, cutting effortlessly through the ground. Sam dodged aside with similar effortlessness. His training for almost the past decade had been exclusively to fight beings twenty times his size. He did not need the Allspark's power for a fight like this, though he wasn't going to say no to a little power boost.

"Fight it if you want, but I know Bumblebee is still in there!" Sam bellowed.

"You are dreaming, Sam!"

"Maybe I am." A dark grin lit Sam's face, mad light dancing in his eyes. The light that spilled out from his mouth made him look frightening. Insane. It did not help when he opened his mouth and a bolt of blue laserfire shot out.

"No matter how you try, Sam, you can't save everyone. You can't save Bumblebee," said the god, deflecting with an expert twist of his blade. He shook it off, swinging again. "You can't stop what is coming."

"The hell I can't!" Sam swore, flinging to the side, rolling hard across the ground. He popped to his feet, running flat out. As wasted as his body was, he was still spry. He hadn't lost his ability to run or to fight.

"You are still so human. Stop thinking you can save everyone," the King admonished. "The Expansion is coming, boy. The end is nigh."

Hot Rod made a move to join the fray, to protect the precious vessel of the Allspark. This was a battle between a god and a titan. He had no idea where to jump in.

Sam lashed out at him with a blast of light. "Stay out of this!"

"This is insane! We need to get you back to base!" Hot Rod yelled, gripping his shoulder where the lash of light struck him. "You're going to get yourself killed!"

"This is between the Allspark and I," said the god, using a blast of his own energy to fling Hot Rod back to the outskirts of the park. "Stay down and maybe you'll survive this."

Sam intervened between the two of them before Bumblebee could decide to dispose of Hot Rod anyways. "Eyes on me, _your majesty_," he sneered, throwing a ball of white-blue fire.

The King in Yellow was surprisingly light on his feet. His skills with the sword were also damningly good. Sometimes when he moved, it was like seeing Bumblebee superimposed upon the god. The way he stood, the away he attacked, parried, and retreated. It was all Bumblebee. Or maybe Sam was only seeing what he wanted to see. Was he truly being foolish, hanging on to a dream?

The sword swung out in what should have been a killing blow. Sam dove to the side, dreading the worst. He felt the whoosh of air whistle a hair's breath above his head, swishing through his hair. Hitting the ground, rolling, rolling, Sam sprung up and caught the King's optic. The red jewels sparkled like fire, watching him with eons-old intensity.

Sam suddenly grinned, energon dripping between his lips. He wouldn't let go of the dream just yet.

Together, the King in Yellow and Sam danced to the tune of their deadly waltz. Giving, taking. Attacking, retreating. Never was there a more mismatched pair of dance partners, yet how well they fought! Like intimate strangers upon the battlefield. They were in perfect synchronicity, bobbing and weaving in time to the other, like two predators simply circling each other on the battlefield. Except for when they struck.

The god's sword was hungry for blood, each swing meant as a killing blow.

Each strike of lightning Sam threw had enough power to vapourize any mortal metal it touched.

"Tell me about the Expansion!" Sam demanded, sending a concentrated shockwave to knock his opponent back.

Earth and debris flew in every direction as Bumblebee pressed another attack. "Nemesis will use the power of the Allspark to rip a hole between this universe and the Dead Universe." He swept his hand, letting out a burst of energy that threw Sam aside. "Gods the likes of which you have never seen will spill forth into this world."

Sam landed hard on his knee, gritting his teeth against the crack of bone. "There are more like you?"

"We are the Old Ones who watch from the dark," replied the King solemnly. "We are many. We are legion."

"That's some Lovecraftian shit right there," Sam sneered, feeling no victory when he managed to shoot out Bumblebee's knee in revenge for his own. He scrubbed dirt and sweat from his face. "What's Nemesis supposed to be? Cthulhu?"

"Nyarlathotep, actually," was the snarled answer. "The Crawling Chaos."

"And The Bringer of Chaos supposedly dragged him into our world? I guess liked calls to like, huh?" Sam turned to the side and spat bright blue blood.

Seriousness flashed in the god's gaze. "Yes, Sam. Like calls to like."

Sam's eyes flared bright. He swore, diving back into the fray.

"Who are you supposed to be?" he demanded. "Are you Steven King to Nemesis's Lovecraft?"

"I am and have always been who I was in the beginning," was the gritted reply.

Sparks flew, igniting clumps of grass. "If you don't give me a damn _name_, I'm going to call you Pennywise the Clown!"

That inspired a low snarl, yellow armour bristling. "Magnum Innominandum."

Sam's gaze shot to the side. "Translation, Hot Rod!"

Hot Rod scrambled, zipping through the internet like a fiend. "It's Latin! It means 'Great Not-To-Be-Named'!"

A humourless laugh fell from Sam's lips. That explained what happened the first time he asked for the god's name. "You got any better names that are less of a mouthful?"

Red optics narrowed into fiery slits. "Hastur."

Hot Rod felt the sharp points of the wrought iron fence digging into his lower back, preventing him from crawling backwards any farther. "Frag. This is messed up. This is _so _messed up."

The sound of police sirens filled the air. Too little too late. There was nothing the human authorities could do. It was either Sam that would strike the death blow, or the King in Yellow would.

"Nemesis can't do anything without the Allspark's power," Hastur said, stumbling back after a direct hit to the chest. Armour disintegrated, black ooze gushing out across the torn grass. His wounds from the night before were reopening, rivers of tainted liquid miasma bleeding across his frame, slopping across the grass.

"Get in line. There are way too many Big Bad Gods looking for a piece of me." Sam was beginning to flag, his glow diminishing. The arcs of lightning that flashed around him were thinning. "Damn it," he hissed under his breath, heaving hard for air.

"It doesn't have to end like this, Sam. Take Nemesis up on his offer. We can spare you from the Allspark."

"Only to have you destroy my world in return? Bumblebee must be dead, because he'd never insult me with a bullshit offer like that!" He spat blue blood for further insult, igniting more grass upon impact.

"Bumblebee _is_ dead." The sword swung wide, releasing a shockwave of power that threw Sam back. The clang of his small body hitting the fencing rang loud through the park. The metal bent upon his impact. Sam crumpled like a doll, landing face-first in the dirt.

"If I cannot convince you to come with me, then I will simply have to take what I came for." The god reached not for Sam, but for the monument. With a twist, it was dislodged from its moorings. "It's not a lot of power, but it is some." A black smirk appeared on that twisted faceplate. "You can thank Bumblebee's memories for reminding me this was here."

Sam swore, struggling to stand.

"No!" Hot Rod screamed, jolted into action. He flung himself at Bumblebee, bolting headlong through scattered debris.

"Idiot," the King scoffed, shifting the tip of the Allspark's death down and a little to the left.

Optics wide, Hot Rod couldn't stop in time to avoid it. He saw the spear of diamond positioned at his chest, his frame barrelling ever closer, and dread suffused him. The first touch of the Allspark's death was cold. Colder than anything he had ever felt in his life. It slid in like his armour was made of cobwebs. When it pierced his sparkcase, the cold was replaced by heat. Fire. His mouthplates hung open on a silent scream.

Sam's sprinting footfalls echoed loudly in Hot Rod's audios... Or was that the sound of his own spark pounding in his head? He tried to reach up and pull the monument out of his chest, but his arms stayed limp at his sides. Hot Rod felt hard cement crash against his knees the moment his legs could no longer hold him. There was no mercy in the red gaze that bore into him.

"Hot Rod! Oh shit, don't move! I'm gonna help you! Don't move, buddy!"

The touch of tiny hands on his leg raced new fire up his throbbing neural circuits. Blue overtook his vision as Sam scaled his frame, grabbing hold of his audio dial, hanging freely by one arm. Hot Rod watched in stunned silence as Sam twisted around, aiming his middle and forefinger like a gun. A bullet of searing light shot from his fingertips, accompanied by a thunderous boom. Bumblebee was too close to dodge, taking the hit straight to the chest. It burst out the other side, sending shrapnel in all directions.

The force of the hit also threw the god off his feet, taking the diamond gravemarker with him. Hot Rod shrieked when the monument twisted. A hideous grinding wrenched through his frame, seeming to turn him inside out. An instant later, an ear-shattering _crack_ split the air. Hot Rod screamed again when he thought he had been cut in half, only to watch as the majority of the monument twisted away from him. Where tiny shards of diamond should have rained down, little blue sparks lit the air. Sprigs of green sprung up where blue sparks touched down.

Hastur snapped to his feet, black ooze gushing like a river down his front. "This isn't over, Sam."

"Not between us, it's not," Sam retorted sharply.

The ground opened up and swallowed the god, Allspark grave and all.

Hot Rod focused on the wavering spot of blue flickering in front of him. Liquid blue dripped from between his mouthplates. More blue leaked from the new hole in his chest, trickling little rivers squeezed out from the seal between his armour and the diamond spear piercing him straight through.

"Shit," Sam gasped, one hand to his head. His light was at an all time low. "I barely have any juice left."

"I think I'm dying," Hot Rod whispered weakly.

"No, you're not," Sam admonished, shifting his one-handed grip on Hot Rod's head. He stretched to the side until his feet found decent footholds in the armour. Swinging down carefully, he came eye-level with the damage and gave a low whistle. "It looks bad, though."

"How bad is it?" Hot Rod asked, squinting his optics shut. "Really bad, isn't it? It feels really bad."

"You have a piece of the Allspark's death shoved through your chest. Generally speaking, that's bad," Sam deadpanned. "Luckily, the Allspark is made of pure creation. Even a piece of its death can't kill you. I think."

"What do you mean _you think_?" Hot Rod blinked rapidly to clear his vision. "Am I dying or not? This isn't something you joke around with!"

Sam kneaded his forehead like the mother of all migraines was pounding between his eyes. "Do I look like the expert on Allspark matters? I'm just the guy who got stuck as the vessel. I didn't get an instruction book!" He sucked in a calming breath, counting to five beneath his breath. "All I can say is that I have this _feeling _you're going to be okay."

Hot Rod's chin jutted out, wavering while he put on a brave face. "...I feel like I'm dying."

"That's because you have a giant piece of diamond sticking out of your chest, plus I shot you, plus a god shot you. If you felt okay, there would be something wrong with you."

"I am starting to regret my decision to come to this planet." It took nearly all of Hot Rod's strength to lift his arms high enough to touch his chest. Blunt metal fingers prodded at the jagged diamond. Every little movement was like knives in his spark. "Ow. Frag. Primus. Can you get it out?" He sucked in a shaky drag of air. "We don't have to worry about Bum- er... um, Hastur coming back, do we?"

Sam stared at the ground. "No. He's gone for now."

Hot Rod eased back, gritting against the pain. "What... happened to him?"

"Bumblebee sacrificed himself to give us time. Nemesis wanted him so he gave himself up." He paused, shaking his head. "Nemesis woke up the thing that's been sleeping in him this whole time. What you just saw is apparently the original Bumblebee. He just happens to be a god."

"Frag," Hot Rod coughed raggedly. Excuse his bluntness, but he figured he didn't have to be eloquent while he was the victim of a stabbing.

Sam kept his eyes downcast.

Hot Rod grunted, nodding to his new hood ornament with a curt jerk of his head. "Am I going to end up radioactive from this? I won't turn into you, will I?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Hold still." Tiny human hands prodded at the jagged tip, jerking it back and forth, loosening it. "It's in there tight. Hold your arm across your chest so I can stand on it."

Hot Rod did as he was bid, allowing Sam to walk across his arm to stand directly in front of his chest. With two hands on the broken spike, Sam braced his feet against the metal and yanked with all his strength. Hot Rod arched back, mouthplates open on a silent screech as the pressure felt like it was forcing all his internal machinery to push outwards. The more Sam pulled, the dimmer his light became. He let up, hands on his knees to pant for air.

"It's really stuck in there," he huffed. It probably did not help that he was fresh from battle, weakened by the use of so much energy, and his body was a battered bag of blue-grey flesh.

"Yeah. I can feel that. Call a tow truck and drag me to base, will you?"

"Let me try one more time before we worry about that." Sam rubbed his hands down the front of his pants, clapped his palms together, rolled his shoulders, and then latched back onto the Allspark shard. "Make a wish," he joked, throwing his weight behind his efforts. He pulled until all the veins in his face stood out in sharp relief. His eyes screwed closed, teeth gritted. Blue energy crackled for an instant before he lost his grip. A human shriek rent the air as Sam jerked backwards into midair, arms pinwheeling perilously.

There wasn't enough time for Hot Rod to catch the boy. He remembered only vaguely trying to move in for the catch. He felt fire explode out from the wound, seizing his frame. He watched Sam's stunned expression while the boy fell. What Hot Rod failed to see was the way the diamond shard lit up, guttering like a candle being blown out after a child had made his wish. With a twist, it shot deep into Hot Rod's chest cavity. His vision wavered dangerously, static overtaking him. His last thought regarded why the ground appeared to be rushing up into his faceplate.

The next thing Hot Rod knew, a shoed foot was kicking him just below his left optic.

"Wake up," Sam hissed, kicking harder. _"Wake up!_"

Hot Rod groaned. Three tries later, he successfully shoved up onto his hands and knees. The world was spinning. Did the ground seem farther away than it normally did? Why were his optics on a magnified setting? His hands looked bigger than the last time he'd looked at them.

Sam gasped as Hot Rod came to loom over him. His pallid grey skin leached of what little colour he had left. Sam's expression was the worst of all, contorting into a mix of horror and confusion.

"What? What's wrong?" Hot Rod groaned, wondering why his voice sounded like a sandblaster had been taken to it.

"Oh shit," Sam replied.

"That doesn't answer my question," Hot Rod coughed, rocking his weight back and forth on his hands and knees. He felt heavier than he remembered.

"Um, well... there was an accident. Sort of," Sam began, looking anywhere but at Hot Rod. There was an _I don't know what the hell happened_ quality to his voice. It was not reassuring at all.

"An accident." The word echoed hollowly in his head.

Dimly glowing fingers ploughed furrows through dark hair, tugging his scalp up along with handfuls of stressed hair. "I might have... fuck. How do I say this? I might have accidentally activated a piece of the Allspark's death. I don't know how I did it. It reacted with you."

"Reacted with me?" Panic rushed through him, overpowering his weakness. He reared back, suddenly disorientated. Everything was out of proportion. His frame didn't feel like his own anymore. _"What happened to me?!"_

Sam cringed, jumping away while Hot Rod whipped around in his panic. Lips flapping, no sound came out.

The silence only made his panic worse. Hot Rod started howling. "What's happened to me! Give it to me straight, Sam! I want to know what happened to me! What did you do to me?!"

"Okay. Shit. Okay. Both of us calm down and I'll... um... do something," Sam said, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "For starters? Don't freak out... anymore than you already have."

Hot Rod shot him a look of the utmost panic.

"Right. Yeah. Wrong thing to say." Sam cringed. "Well, long story short? I think you have to change your name to Rodimus from now on..."


End file.
